A 

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Hlbion  M.  ZTourgee. 


A  Royal  Gentleman.     [Master  and  Slave.]     1874. 

Figs  and    Thistles.      [A  Typical  American  Career.]     1879. 

A  Fool's  Errand ;    by  One  of  the  Fools.     [The  Reconr 
struction  Era.]     1879. 

Bricks  Without  Straw.    [Bondage  of  the  Freedman.]    1880. 
John  Eax,   Mamelon,   etc.       [The  New  South.]     1882. 
Hot  Plowshares.     [Rise  of  Anti-Slavery  Sentiment.]     1883. 

An  Appeal  to  Caesar.    [Illiteracy  and  Education  of  National 
Voters.]     1884. 

Black  Ice.     [Tale  of  a  Northern  Winter.]     1885. 
Button's  Inn.     [Western  New  York.]     1886. 

The  Veteran  and  His  Pipe.      [An  Old   Soldier's  View  of 
Politics.]     1887. 

Letters  to  a  King.     [Addressed  to  Young  Voters.]     1888. 
"With  Gauge  and  Swallow.    [Legal  Reminiscences.]    1889. 

Murvale   Eastman:  Christian  Socialist.     [Wealth,  Pov 
erty,  Capital,  Labor,  Speculation,  Journalism,  etc.]     1890. 

*#*  See  end  of  book,  for  special  list  of  To  urge's 
"works  published  by 

FORDS,    HOWARD,   &   HULBERT, 

30  Lafayette  Place,  New  York, 


MURVALE    EASTMAN 

CHRISTIAN    SOCIALIST 


BY 


Albion  W.  Tourgee 


NEW  YORK 
FORDS,  HOWARD,   &   HULBERT 

LONDON:  SAMPSON  LOW,  MARSTON,  SEARLE  &  RIVINGTON,  Lo. 
St.  Dunstajvs  House,  Fetter  Lane,  E.  C, 


iv  PREFACE. 

The  past  offers  no  parallel;  it  knew  no  similar 
conditions.  The  conflict  between  the  many  and 
the  few  has  heretofore  been  one  of  personal  right; 
the  citizen  has  been  evolved  from  the  serf;  the  free 
man  from  the  slave.  To  this  end  all  the  forces  of 
civilization  have  been  shaped.  The  present  is  not 
a  question  of  personal  right,  but  of  just  oppor 
tunity.  Wage-earning  is  not  slavery,  but  when  it 
becomes  a  fixed  condition  it  is  one  of  sheer  depend 
ence.  The  control  of  opportunity  means  the  sub 
jection  of  the  individual  just  as  much  as  did  the 
control  of  his  energies,  but  it  does  not  trench  upon 
the  domain  of  personal  right.  No  individual  laborer 
has  a  right  to  demand  work  and  wages  of  an  indi 
vidual  employer.  It  is  a  question  between  society 
and  the  employer  as  to  the  control  of  opportunity. 

We  have  simply  come  upon  a  new  era.  The 
maxims  of  the  past  are  no  longer  safe  landmarks. 
The  social  bases  of  the  past  are  too  narrow  for  the 
demands  of  the  present.  The  domain  of  personal 
duty  has  been  enlarged.  The  relations  of  the  indi 
vidual  have  been  extended.  The  area  of  mutual 
obligation  has  been  amazingly  increased.  The  citi 
zen  has  become  responsible  for  direction  as  well  as 
allegiance.  The  function  of  government  has  been 
newly  defined.  The  wisdom  of  the  wisest  ancient 
monarch  is  folly  to-day.  It  is  no  longer  a  defensi- 


PREFACE.  V 

ble  theory  that  "  what  is  good  for  the  hive  is  good 
for  the  bee;"  the  converse,  rather,  is  the  measure 
of  policy.  The  welfare  of  the  governed  is  acknowl 
edged  to  be  the  supreme  function  of  government. 
Already  the  "  wealth  of  nations  "  has  proved  a  delu 
sion.  The  individual  is  the  pivot  of  progress.  Per 
sonal  independence  is  the  test  of  social  forces.  A 
nation  may  grow  rich  beyond  all  precedent,  and  at 
the  same  time  individual  opportunity  be  constantly 
restricted  and  the  area  of  self-direction  and  control 
be  rapidly  diminished.  The  man  who  labors  for 
himself  is  a  master;  he  who  is  dependent  for  op 
portunity  upon  another's  will  is  half  a  slave.  - 

It  is  against  this  background  of  fact  that  the  au 
thor  has  sought  to  trace  certain  characters.  He 
claims  for  his  work  only  that  the  background  is  a 
real  one,  and  the  figures  such  as  one  meets  in  real 
life,  shown  under  familiar  conditions.  He  has  not 
sought  to  indicate  specific  methods  of  amendment 
or  predict  particular  results,  but  merely  to  point 
out  the  spirit  which  must  animate  and  precede  any 
successful  effort  at  amelioration.  The  general  pur 
pose  is  the  most  important  element  of  social  prog 
ress.  "Where  there  is  a  will,  there  will  always  be 
found  a  way,"  is  an  adage  peculiarly  true  of  popu 
lar  impulses.  Method  is  secondary,  and  depends 


vi  PREFACE. 

largely  on  the  agencies  the  popular  will  must  em 
ploy  and  the  conditions  under  which  it  must  act. 
The  moral  tendency  from  which  amendment  must 
arise  is  a  fact ;  millennial  possibilities  and  specific 
remedies  are  at  best  but  dreams. 

"  We  cannot  do  without  Christianity,"  said 
Matthew  Arnold,  "  and  we  cannot  endure  it  as  it 
is."  He  uttered  half  a  tru-th.  We  have  applied  the 
basic  principle  cf  Christianity  to  half  the  relations 
of  life:  the  result  has  been  personal  liberty^-'the 
equal  right  of  every  individual  to  control  his  own 
energies.'  Is  the  world  ready  to  apply  the  same  im 
mutable  principle  to  another  field  of  human  rela 
tion — the  field  of  opportunity  as  well  as  freedom  of 
endeavor  ?  This  is  the  question  formulated  in  these 
pages,  simply  because  it  is  the  paramount  question 
which  is  struggling  for  answer  in  these  our  times — 
the  most  real  fact  of  every  life. 

MAYVILLE,  N.  Y.,  November,  1890. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  PACE 

I.  A  CHRONIC  GRUMBLER,  ......  9 

II.  THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  GOLDEN  LILIES,    .        .  33 

III.  LALEIN, 42 

IV.  PLUSIUS  AND  PENES, 52 

V.  GARDEN  SQUARE,  .        .        .        .        .        .        .66 

VI.  GOLD  AND  PORPHYRY, 76 

VII.  TAKING  THE  VERDICT, 84 

VIII.  THE  CONSECRATED  CUP, 97 

IX.  AN  EXPERT  OPINION, 106 

X.  A  CHRYSALID'S  RETROSPECT,     .     •   .        .        .  112 

XI.  A  NEW  DOCTRINE,         .        .        .        ,        ,        .  116 

XII.  SNARES  FOR  UNWARY  FEET,     .        .        .       >  125 

XIII.  ATTACKING  THE  SUPPLY  TRAIN,  .        .        •»        .  129 

XIV.  "  NUMBER  FORTY-SIX,"     .        .        .        .        T  142 
XV.  THE  EYES  OF  ARGUS,   .        .        .        .        .        .151 

XVI.  Too  NATURAL  FOR  "REALISM,"       ...  154 

XVII.  A  DEVIOUS  WAY,  .......  188 

XVIII.  THE  GLOW  OF  A  FATEFUL  GEM,        .        .        .  201 

XIX.  THE  THUNDERBOLT  "Scoops"  THE  BREEZE,        .  213 

XX.  DODGING  THE  BLOW 233 

XXI.  DAWN  IN  THE  DESERT, 247 

XXII.  THE  GATE  OF  PALMS 257 

XXIII.  OUT  OF  THE  SMITTEN  ROCK,         ....  260 

XXIV.  FRESH  BLOOP,  .                      ....  275 


viil  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  PACK 

XXV.  A  MODERN  MIRACLE, 285 

XXVI.  ALAS!  POOR  GHOST, 296 

XXVII.  POACHING  ON  THE  DEVIL'S  PRESERVES,      .        .  309 

XXVIII.  TAKING  NOTE  OF  TIME 322 

XXIX.  AN  UNGRATEFUL  PROTEG£ 329 

XXX.  AN  ILLIBERAL  DEFINITION  OF  LIBERALITY,    .  334 

XXXI.  GOD'S  ANOINTED  PHUE, 345 

XXXII.  ULTRA  VIRES, 356 

XXXIII.  BEHOLD  A  PERFECT  AND  AN  UPRIGHT  MAN,     .  362 

• 

XXXIV.  LOVE'S  GILDED  HEADSTONE,.        ...  370 
XXXV.  AN  UNREASONABLE  CONSCIENCE,  .        .        .        .384 

XXXVI.  How  GIVING  BLESSES  THE  GIVER,  ...  395 

XXXVII.  THE  PRODUCT  OF  EVOLUTION 406 

XXXVIII.  IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  FAME,     ...  419 
XXXIX.  UNCOVERING  A  CRATER,      .        ...        .        .428 

XL.  TRUSTEES  OF  DIVINE  PURPOSE,        .        .        .  437 
XLI.  Is  FAITH  HOSTILE  TO  HUMANITY?      .        .        .449 

XLII.  THE  ULTIMATUM, 464 

XLIII.  THE  TWIG  BREAKS, 473 

XLIV.  THE  PROTEST  OF  DESPAIR 480 

XLV.  NATURE  GREATER  THAN  ART 491 

XLVI.  TWIXT  DREAM  AND  WAKING,       ...  508 

XLVII.  THE  ALOE  BLOSSOM 5*3 


MURVALE    EASTMAN. 


CHAPTER    I. 

A    CHRONIC    GRUMBLER. 

"HANNAH!" 

It  wa^a  man's  voice,  strong  and  firnOdespite  the  pecu-    y 
liar  huskiness  which  tells  of  bronchial  disease.     Though 
evidently  labored,  there  was /nothing  weak  or  querulous 
about  it. 

"  Yes,  dear,  in  a  minute,"  came  the  answer  from  another 
room. 

Presently  a  door  opened  and  a  woman  entered,  gray- 
haired  but  still  comely.  "Pier  flushed  face,  sleeves  rolled 
above  the  elbow,  and  traces  of  flour  on  the  plump  arms, 
showed  that  she  had  been  engaged  in  some  culinary  oc 
cupation.  With  housewifely  caution  she  left  the  door 
ajar  behind  her. 

"What  is  it,  Jonas?  "  she  asked. 

"  Hannah,  don't  you  think  we  might  go  to  the  park  to 
morrow?  " 

The  man  who  asked  the  question  sat  in  a  big,  red, 
splint-bottomed  rocking-chair  in  the  "second-story  front" 
of  a  story-and-a-half  house  in  one  of  the  poorest  quarters 
of  a  great  city.  It  would  have  Seen  callecTa  suburb  but 


that  the  city  stretched  away  on  either  side  of  it,  dense 
and  crowded.  A  valley  running  down  to  the  river,  too 
broad  to  be  conveniently  built  over,  had  been  seized  upon, 
before  the  growth  of  population  too  greatly  enhanced  its 
value,  as  a  convenient  means  of  ingress  by  the  half-dozen 
railroads  converging  in  the  city.  This  fact  had  con 
demned  it  to  smoke  and  squalor.  The  houses  built  along 
its  sides  were  sjnall  and  cheap.  It  would  not  pay  to  erect 
costly  structures  in  such  a  locality. 

The  room  was  of  medium  size,  and  though  next  to  the 
roof,  not  uncomfortable  nor  altogether  ill-furnished.  That 
from  which  the  woman  came  was  smaller,  but  served  very 
well  for  a  kitchen.  The  entrance  was  by  an  outside  stair 
way  at  the  rear.  A  quilt  was  thrown  over  the  chair  in 
which  the  man  sat,  evidently  taken  from  the  bed  in  the 
back  part  of  the  room.  The  one  window  in  the  front 
was  at  his  right.  Before  him  was  an  old-fashioned  nar 
row  hair-cloth  lounge,  much  worn ;  behind  him  a  table. 
A  newspaper,  limp  and  worn  from  much  handling,  lay 
across  his  lap. 

"Go  to  the  park!"  repeated  the  woman  in  surprise. 
"  Why,  Jonas,  what  do  you  mean?  " 

She  sat  down  upon  the  lounge  and  took  up  a  piece  of 
sewing  with  that  habit  of  constant  occupation  which  be 
comes  almost  a  disease  in  the  woman  compelled  to  labor, 
hardly  removing  her  eyes  from  her  husband's  face  except 
to  note  where  first  to  set  her  needle. 

"Just  what  I  say,  Hannah,1'  answered  the  husband. 
"  You  know  to-morrow  is  your  birthday,  and  I  thought  it 
might  do  us  both  good  to  get  a  bit  of  air  with  a  little  less 
cinder  in  it  than  what  we  have  to  breathe  here." 

He  glanced  at  the  blackened  panes  of  the  one  window 
iis  he  spoke, 


A    CHROXIC  GRUMBLER.  n 

"Do  you  think  you  could  walk  as  far  as  that,  Jonas?" 
suggested  his  wife. 

"  I  suppose  not."  A  spasm  interrupted  him.  He 
coughed  with  a  sort  of  angry  vehemence,  as  if  protesting 
against  what  he  could  not  avoid.  His  wife  kept  on  sew 
ing.  "  Not  a  great  way  at  a  time,  at  least,"  he  added 
finally,  panting  as  he  wiped  his  stiff  mustache. 

"  It's  a  long  way,  as  much  as  three  miles,"  said  the 
wife  hopelessly. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  mean  the  big  park.    Of  course  we  couldn't 
go   there.     You  know  that  little  one  up  on  the  avenue, 
not  more'n  a  mile  from  here.     If  we  should  start  early — 
He  did  not  finish  the  sentence  but  his  voice  was  full  of 
pitiful  yearning. 

"You  mean  Garden  Square?" 

"Yes,  next  to  Kishu's  church." 

"  Perhaps  we  might  go  there — if  you  think  you  could 
stand  it?" 

"We  could  take  our  time;  'go  early  and  get  good 
seats,'  you  know." 

"Yes;  and  it's  in  the  'dress  circle,'"  said  the  woman 
smiling,  "the  very  swellest  part  of  the  city." 

"We  shouldn't  exactly  harmonize,  you  think?" 

The  woman  glanced  at  her  dress.  It  was  of  cheap 
material,  faded,  patched  in  places,  yet  worn  with  the  un 
mistakable  air  of  gentility. 

"Twenty-five  years  going  down  hill  has  been  pretty 
hard  on  you,  dear,  but  you're  a  lady  yet,  as  good  as  any 
of  them,"  said  the  husband  almost  fiercely. 

"Oh,  I'll  go,  Jonas,"  answered  the  wife  in  a  tone  of 
hasty  conciliation.  "  I  was  only  wondering  if  I  could  do 
anything  to  freshen  this  up.  You  know  I  like  to  look  re 
spectable/' 


12  Ml'RTALE  EASTMAN. 

"Yes,  Hannah,  I  know  just  how  you  feel,  and  I 
wouldn't  ask  this,  only — well,  I've  a  special  reason  for 
wanting  to  go  there,  and  as  soon  as  I  get  able  to  take  my 
'run'  again,  there  won't  be  any  chance,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  do  know,"  said  the  wife,  furtively  wiping 
her  eyes,  "  and — and — the  winter's  coming  on,  and  you're 
so  fond  of  trees  and  flowers.  Of  course  I'll  go,''  she 
added  with  a  cheerfulness  that  was  evidently  forced. 

The  husband  was  silent  for  a  little  while.  The  wife 
looked  up,  but  her  eyes  dropped  on  her  work  as  soon  as 
they  met  his  gaze,  fixed  mournfully  upon  her.  Tears  fell 
on  her  needle,  but  she  sewed  on  busily. 

"  You  think  it'll  be  my  last  chance  to  see  such  things, 
don't  you,  Hannah?"  said  the  husband  tenderly. 

She  raised  her  work  to  bite  off  the  thread.  The  action 
partly  hid  her  face.  She  did  not  answer. 

"  Like  as  not  you're  right,"  he  continued  after  a  mo 
ment.  "And  I  wouldn't  mind  if  it  wasn't  for  you.  We've 
had  a  hard  rime,  dear.  Life  hasn't  brought  us  much 
comfort  except  what  we've  got  out  of  our  love,  and  I've 
thought  sometimes  that  only  made  it  all  the  harder  to 
bear." 

"Oh,  don't  say  that!  "  exclaimed  the  wife. 

"  I  am  not  complaining,  Hannah,  [t's  all  we've  got, 
and  worth  more  than  all  we  could  have,  but  it  does  make 
the  load  heavier;  there's  no  mistake  about  that.  You'd 
be  willing  to  die  if  it  would  ease  my  pain ;  and  I'd  be 
happy  to  swap  my  expectations  of  life  for  an  assurance 
that  you'd  be  comfortable  the  rest  of  your  days.  I  don't 
think  I  ever  wanted  to  be  rich — very  rich,  I  mean,  but  I 
did  want  you  to  have  a  good  home  and  ordinary  comforts, 
and  never  had  an  idea  but  I  could  always  provide  them 
for  you;  but  somehow  I  haven't  been  able.  It's  been 


rc  GRUMBLER.  \$ 

just  one  piece  of  bad  luck  on  top  of  another,  ever  since 
the  big  crash  carried  us  under  nigh  twenty  years  ago. 
I've  managed  to  keep  us  in  bread,  and  you've  worked  it 
so  that  we  haven't  quite  got  out  of  clothes,  but  that's 
about  the  tally  of  the  earthly  blessings  we've  enjoyed." 

"We  ought  to  be  thankful  for  them,"  answered  the 
wife,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully. 

"  People  have  a  fashion  of  saying  so,  Hannah ;  but  what 
reason  have  we  for  thankfulness  at  merely  being  alive, 
without  any  hope  that  things  will  ever  get  any  better  and 
are  reasonably  certain  to  get  worse?  " 

"  But  you  have  not  lost  hope?  "  said  the  wife  mean 
ingly. 

"No;  I  haven't  lost  hope.  I'm  one  of  the  kind  it's 
nearly  impossible  to  discourage.  I  just  carif  give  up/ 
Perhaps  that's  been  the  trouble  with  me.  Even  when  the 
crowd  upset  the  car  and  spilled  me  out,  I  never  thought 
of  letting  go  the  lines,  though  the  horses  dragged  me  half 
a  block.  I  don't  know  why — I  didn't  care  a  fig  about 
the  company's  property — just  habit,  I  suppose.  But  then 
I'm  not  thankful,  either.  Now .jou  have  lost  hope;  you 
don't  dream  of  such  a  thing  as  being  any  better  off  than 
we  are,  and  fear  every  day  may  be  worse  than  the  one 
before.  You  expect  the  down  grade  to  keep  on  getting 
sharper  and  harder  until  the  end,  and  you  talk  about 
being  thankful!  I  don't  see  the  grounds  of  it,  Hannah. 
We've  done  all  we  could.  If  I've  ever  missed  a  day's 
work  when  I  could  work  at  all,  or  you  ever  let  slip  a 
chance  to  earn  and  save,  I  don't  know  it.  And  this  is 
what  we've  got  to  show  for  it.  Of  course  we  spent  some 
thing  educating  the  boys,  and  something  hunting  for  the 
little  one ;  but  that's  all.  We've  never  had  any  luxuries, 
and  a  good  deal  of  the  time  have  been  short  for  neces- 


i4  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

saries.  Now,  I  say  it  isn't  fair.  We've  deserved  better 
than  we've  had,  measuring  our  work,  our  savings,  and  our 
good-will  with  others,  and  putting  what  we've  had  beside 
what  they've  enjoyed." 

"  But  if  it  is  the  Lord's  will ?  " 

"  But  it  isn't  the  Lord's  will.  It's  blasphemy  to  hint 
that  the  Lord  wishes  such  things  to  be." 

The  man  spoke  with  impetuous  heat. 

"  You  know  you  haven't  been  strong  since — since — our 
trouble,  Jonas,"  said  the  woman  soothingly. 

"Very  true;  but  I've  done  a  man's  work  all  the  time, 
Hannah,  until  just  lately.  I  haven't  shirked  on  that  ac 
count." 

"Well,  well,  dear,  don't  blame  the  Lord,  whatever  you 
do.  We  haven't  ever  been  grumblers:  don't  let  us  begin 
now." 

"Oh,  I'm  not  blaming  the  Lord;  only  I'm  not  thankful. 
I've  no  cause  to  be ;  that's  all.  I  don't  think  it's  the 
Lord's  fault,  nor  his  doings,  except,  in  a  general  way.  I 
do  think  society  is  wrong.  It  ought  not  to  let  a  willing 
man  fall  into  helpless  poverty.  There  have  been  a  hun 
dred  times,  since  we  started  down,  when  a  helping  hand, 
or  even  one  little  finger,  would  have  set  me  on  my  feet 
and  made  us  comfortable.  That's  what  I  find  fault  with. 
Society  is  good  enough  to  them  that  have  nothing.  It 
feeds  its  paupers,  and  I  suppose  feeds  them  well.  TJiev 
ought  to  be  thankful.  But  we  areh't  paupers  and  never 
will  be — never  can  be.  Sometimes,  perhaps,  the  world 
will  learn  it's  better,  and  in  the  long  run  cheaper,  to  help 
men  who  don't  want  to  be  paupers,  than  to  let  them  drag 
on  until  they  lose  hope  and  are  fit  only  for  the  poor-house 
or  the  prison.  Pauperism  and  crime  are  like  disease: 
the  best  way  to  cure  'em  is  to  prevent  'em — to  treat  them 


A    CHKOXfC   C,K(rMBLEK.  15 

that's  '  exposed '  as  well  as  them  that's  sick,  just  as  they 
do  with  small-pox." 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  back  door.  The  wife  an 
swered  it  and  returned  with  a  brown  envelope  and  a  mes 
sengers  card.  The  envelope  was  addressed  to  "Jonas 
Underwood."  The  man  opened  it  and  counted  the 
money  it  contained. 

"Six  days' work — nine  dollars!"  he  said,  holding  the 
money  in  one  hand  and  the  card  in  the  other.  "Full 
time  and  no  docking  for  mistakes:  that's  better'n  I'd 
have  done  if  I'd  been  able  to  take  my* run,'  I'm  afraid. 
You  see,  they  raised  the  wages  twenty-five  cents  a  day  as 
soon  as  the  strike  was  'off.'  It  isn't  so  bad  now:  a  man 
could  probably  average  seven  or  eight  dollars  a  week. 
He  can  live  on  that,  but  he  can't  get  much  ahead  for 
sickness  or  old  age.  Better  pay  the  rent  and  get  some 
coal,  Hannah.  If  we're  dry  and  warm  we  can  chance 
the  food." 

He  signed  the  card  and  handed  it  to  his  wife. 

"Now,  isn't  that  something  to  be  thankful  for?"  she 
asked  almost  gayly  as  she  kissed  his  forehead  and  went  to 
give  the  messenger  his  receipt. 

When  she  returned  her  husband  said:  "That's  the 
queerest  thing,  Hannah,  that's  ever  happened  to  me,  and 
I've  had  some  strange  experiences,  too.  I  can't  make 
out  why  that  man  should  do  the  work  and  send  me  the 
money.  Of  course  he's  young  and  strong,  and  probably 
has  got  lots  of  property,  but  it's  no  light  job  that  he's  un 
dertaken.  He  said  he'd  do  it  for  a  month,  and  I  guess 
he  meant  it.  Strange  enough,  I  haven't  any  objection  to 
being  helped  that  way.  It's  the  sort  of  thing  I'd  be  will 
ing  to  do  myself — have  done  a  little  of,  now  and  then — 
though  I'd  die  before  I'd  accept  charity.  But  I'm  not 


1  6  MURTALE 


going  to  tax  his  kindness  to  the  limit,  and  mean  to  take 
my  'run  '  Monday  or  Tuesday  if  I  can." 

"  Don't  think  of  it,  Jonas  !  You  know  you're  not  able," 
said  the  wife,  dropping  her  work  and  clasping  her  hands 
pleadingly. 

"I  know,  dear,"  answered  the  husband,  "that  I  ain't 
able  to  work  if  I  could  afford  to  lie  still.  But  I'm  not 
likely  to  be  much  better  unless  I  can  get  rid  of  this  thing 
here,"  touching  his  right  breast  with  his  left  hand. 
"That's  all  the  trouble;  and  every  time  I've  coughed  for 
the  last  two  or  three  days,  I've  thought  sure  I  was  going 
to  get  it  up." 

The  wife's  face  assumed  at  once  that  look  of  vacuous 
assent  with  which  we  listen  to  the  fancies  of  others  when 
we  do  not  wish  to  contradict,  but  do  not  in  the  least  be 
lieve. 

"  This  thing  here  "  was  no  unfamiliar  topic  to  the  wife 
of  Jonas  Underwood,  though  always  a  far  from  pleasant 
one.  He  believed  that  the  cough  which  had  troubled 
him  so  long  was  caused  by  a  foreign  substance  in  one  of 
his  lungs.  Nobody  else  thought  so.  The  origin  of  his 
belief  and  its  history  were  both  curious  and  sorrowful. 
As  an  act  of  kindness,  while  serving  as  a  private  soldier, 
he  had  taken  the  place  of  a  friend  detailed  for  picket- 
duty,  without  the  knowledge  of  his  officers  and  in  viola 
tion  of  military  rule.  In  an  attack  made  during  the 
night,  the  pickets  were  driven  in,  and  Underwood  shot 
and  taken  prisoner.  As  the  man  whom  he  had  obliged 
was  afraid  to  divulge  the  truth  he  was  reported  as  "  absent 
without  leave."  Six  months  afterward  he  was  exchanged, 
and  being  much  reduced  in  flesh  and  troubled  with  a  cough, 
was  discharged  from  hospital  without  returning  to  his 
regiment,  on  account  of  "  pulmonary  consumption."  The 


A    CHRONIC  GRUMBLER.  j; 

fact  of  disability  was  too  apparent  for  the  over-worked 
surgeons  to  pay  much  attention  to  his  claim  that  his  ill 
ness  arose  from  wounds  rather  than  from  hereditary  dis 
ease.  His  general  health  improved  after  leaving  the 
service,  and  for  some  years,  except  for  occasional  fits  of 
coughing,  he  showed  no  sign  of  the  injury  which  he  had 
suffered.  Then  his  disability  became  so  apparent  that, 
impelled  by  dire  necessity,  he  made  application  for  a 
pension. 

Everything  was  against  him ;  reported  "  absent  without 
leave; "  discharged  for  "consumption;"  no  one  saw  him 
shot;  he  had  never  returned  to  his  regiment!  All  he  had 
to  put  against  these  unfavorable  facts  was  his  naked  word. 
It  is  the  policy  of  our  government  to  esteem  every  such 
applicant  a  knave.  So  agents,  paid  by  the  government, 
were  set  on  his  trail  to  disprove  his  allegations.  He  was 
examined  by  the  medical  board  and  the  unmistakable 
track  of  a  bullet  found  on  his  person,  the  spot  where  it 
had  entered  and  where  it  had  come  out.  It  had  struck 
his  breast-bone,  followed  a  rib  part  way  round  and  passed 
through  the  fleshy  part  of  his  right  arm  on  its  way  into 
space.  It  was  impossible,  the  surgeons  said,  that  it  should 
have  injured  the  right  lung.  In  support  of  the  assigned 
cause  of  discharge,  congenital  consumption,  it  was  found 
that  his  mother's  three  sisters  had  all  died  between  the 
ages  of  eighteen  and  twenty-six.  The  applicant's  ex 
planation  of  this  very  questionable  feature  of  his  physical 
record,  that  they  were  "  supposed  to  have  been  killed  by 
Indians,"  was  regarded  as  a  shrewd  device  to  baffle  in 
vestigation,  and  his  reply  to  an  imperative  demand  for 
"  the  address  of  some  one  who  was  present  at  their  death 
and  knew  the  cause,"  in  which  he  gave  the  names  of  three 
Indian  chiefs  who  were  famous  leaders  in  a  border  war  of 


is  MURVAL&  /•:./. v 7 ']/,/.\. 

half  a  century  ago,  was  looked  upon  by  the  wiseacres  of 
the  national  bureau  of  rewards  and  punishments  as  a 
piece  of  phenomenal  effrontery.  After  several  years  of 
investigation  his  application  was  denied  in  language  none 
the  mildest,  and  with  an  imputation  which  caused  the 
sensitive  and  suffering  veteran  to  shrink  from  all  associa 
tion  with  his  former  comrades.  "  This  thing  here  "  had 
become,  therefore,  a  sore  subject  in  more  senses  than 
one.  His  wife  knew  that  her  husband's  belief  was  en 
tirely  sincere,  but  even  she  had  long  ago  concluded  that 
it  was  only  one  of  the  peculiar  hallucinations  of  the  dis 
ease  from  which  he  suffered.  Her  husband  read  this 
conviction  in  her  face. 

"  I  know  you  don't  believe  in  it,  Hannah/'  he  said, 
apologetically,  "  and  I  suppose  it  must  seem  foolish ;  but 
I  can't  help  it.  I  know  the  thing's  there,  and  I  can't  get 
well  as  long  as  it  stays.  If  I  don't  get  rid  of  it  before 
the  cold  weather  comes  on,  I'm  afraid  I'll  never  do  any 
more  work;  but  I  mean  to  get  it  up." 

The  wife  understood  her  husband's  character,  so  she 
made  no  reply.  /  His  dark  face,  strong-featured,  with 
heavy  brows  and  beard,  short  neck  and  broad  shoulders, 
showed  that  his  was  one  of  those  natures  which  do  not 
easily  yield  to  disease,  and  never  quite  succumb  to  mis 
fortune.  He  turned  and  looked  out  of  the  window  where 
the  sun  was  lightening  into  fleecy  waves  the  mingled 
steam  and  smoke  that  rose  from  the  engine  of  a  passing 
train. 

"Sick  people  always  have  fancies,  don't  they,  Hannah? 
My  fancy  is  that  if  I  could  get  rid  of  this  thing  and  not  have 
to  expose  myself  during  the  winter,  I  might  get  strong  again : 
not  as  I  once  was — that  ain't  to  be  expected ;  but  well 
enough  to  do  regular  work  of  some  sort — not  too  heavy, 


/    <  HROtflC  GRUMBLER.  19 

you  know — so  that  we  needn't  lack  for  necessaries  and 
have  a  few  comforts.     Now  I've  got  an  idea — 

"  Please  don't  get  to  making  any  new  plans,  Jonas," 
said  the  wife  plaintively.  She  knew  how  absorbed  he  was 
apt  to  become  in  such  things  in  his  enforced  idleness. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence. 

"I've  had  a  good  many,  haven't  I?"  said  the  man 
submissively — "a  good  many  that  came  to  naught.  I 
know  it,  dear.  Sometimes  it  has  been  my  fault  and 
sometimes  my  misfortune.  But  should  we  have  been  any 
better  off  if  I  had  just  sat  down  and  taken  things  as  they 
came?  I  haven't  always  got  up  by  climbing,  but  I've 
kept  myself  from  sinking  down.  You've  prayed  and  I've 
planned;  and  if  neither  one  has  done  any  good  so  far  as 
bettering  our  condition  is  concerned,  I  s'pose  they've 
both  helped  us  to  hold  out  and  keep  on  working." 

"Oh,  I  didn't  mean  that,  Jonas,  at  all,"  said  the  wife, 
sobbingly.  "  I'm  sure  we  never  could  have  got  along  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  your  planning.  I  think  it  quite  won 
derful,  the  resources  you  have  shown.  As  quick  as  one 
dependence  fails  you  always  have  another,  so  that  in  spite 
of  all  we  have  never  come  to  real  want.  But  it  troubles  \ 
me  to  see  you  making  plans  that  you  haven't  the  strength 
nor  the  means  to  carry  out.  I  know  you  will  be  disap 
pointed,  and  that  always  makes  you  worse." 

"  Well,  it  is  hard,  of  course,  to  be  tied  down  by  weak 
ness  and  poverty,  and  see  the  doors  open  all  around 
through  which,  with  a  little  help,  one  might  get  on,  and 
not  be  able  to  do  a  thing,  and  then  perhaps  months  or 
years  afterward  see  the  very  thing  one  has  thought  out 
turning  a  little  river  of  gold  into  some  rich  man's  pocket. 
Of  course  it's  my  fault.  I  made  a  great  mistake  once 
through  not  knowing  what  couldn't  be  known.  I  have 


E   EASTMAN. 

had  my  chance,  and  I  don't  know  as  I  ought  to  complain. 
I  don't  mean  to,  dear.  What  I  mean  to  say  is  that  plan 
ning  is  just  as  good  as  praying:  both  take  the  mind  off 
from  trouble,  and  that's  all  the  good  either  of  them  do." 

"Don't  say  that,  Jonas,  don't!  You  surely  believe  in 
God,  don't  you?"  she  asked  anxiously.  Her  husband's 
religious  views  had  troubled  her  a  good  deal  since  his 
recent  injury. 

"In  God?  Yes.  Who  could  help  it?  But  in  religion? 
No.  You  see,  there's  a  difference.  God  is  a  fact ;  re 
ligion  a  theory.  The  one  is  divine;  the  other  human. 
God  is  a  necessity;  religion  an  inclination.  God  is  a 
being  of  law;  religion  a  thing  of  fashion.  God's  law  is 
that  selfishness  shall  succeed.  This  is  not  unjust;  it  is 
simply  a  misapplication  of  force  on  the  part  of  the  crea 
ture.  The  man  who  gives  his  whole  strength  to  finding 
out  how  he  can  overreach  his  fellows  will  naturally  suc 
ceed  in  acquiring  wealth.  It's  just  the  reasonable  result 
of  the  continued  application  of  force  to  a  single  point. 
One  who  thinks  of  others  and  is  anxious  not  to  injure 
them  will  naturally  lose  chances  that  such  a  man  would 
take,  and  so  falls  behind  in  the  race  of  life.  There's 
nothing  unfair  about  it.  It  is  just  an  illustration  of  the 
universal  law  that  strength  and  cunning  everywhere  pre 
vail.  And  strength  and  cunning  are  merely  instruments; 
whether  the  results  are  good  or  bad  depends  upon  the 
man  who  uses  them." 

"  But  that  is  the  same  thing :  God  made  all  these  things, 
didn't  he?"  asked  the  wife. 

"He  made  the  forces,  dear;  not  the  facts.  He  made 
;  men  strong  and  wise  that  they  might  help  the  weak,  not 
that  they  might  kill  or  starve  or  oppress  them  for  their 
own  selfish  gratification. 


A    CHROMIC   GR 


.? i 


"!_  haven't  any  quarrel  with  religion,  except  as  it  tends 
to  make  the  strong  stronger  and  the  weak  weaker,  or 
palliates  the  failure  of  the  strong  to  do  right,  and  magni 
fies  the  tendency  of  the  weak  to  do  wrong.  The  simple 
truth  is  that  in  extolling  mercy  it  has  forgotten  justice. 
It  preaches  kindness,  but  is  careful  not  to  rebuke  greed. 
To  the  kindly  man  it  is  a  snare ;  to  the  hard  one  an  op 
portunity.  It  honors  achievement  and  despises  failure. 
It  esteems  the  strong,  and  pities  the  weak.  It  builds 
churches  for  the  rich  and  chapels  for  the  poor.  It  gives 
alms  to  the  helpless  and  advice  to  the  struggling.  But 
one  that  is  worth  saving  will  die  before  he  will  accept 
alms,  and  he  who  is  struggling  is  only  made  weaker  by 
empty-handed  advice. 

"  In  a  sense  I  will  admit,  Hannah,  that  religion  is  a 
good  thing;  it  enables  men  and  women  to  endure  what 
they  would  not  otherwise  submit  to.  That  is  the  way  it 
guards  the  peace  of  society.  It  sometimes  restrains  the 
strong,  no  doubt,  and  always  binds  the  weak  and  disarms 
the  desperate.  It  often  induces  the  wrong-doer  to  adopt 
more  tolerable  methods,  and  always  compels  the  oppressed 
to  take  more  civilized  means  of  righting  their  wrongs. 
In  other  words,  it  makes  men  endure  wrong  more  cheer 
fully  and  seek  to  right  it  more  peaceably.  Without  its  in- 
fluence  the  poor  would  kill  the  rich  who  create  poverty 
and  grow  fat  upon  want." 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  talk  so,"  said  the  woman  with  a 
shudder. 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  your  feelings,  Hannah ;  and  I 
don't  bear  anybody  ill-will.  It's  my  misfortune  that  I 
did  not  know  these  things  long  ago.  It  takes  a  good 
while  to  learn  as  much  as  one  ought  to  know  at  the  be 
ginning.  I  ought  to  have  known  better,  for  instance,  than 


22  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

to  give  up  my  chance  of  success  in  business  and  go 
into  the  army.  But  I  wanted  to  see  the  Right  triumph, 
and  I  had  that  queer  notion  it  seems  almost  impossible 
for  one  who  has  had  a  religious  training  to  get  rid  of, 
that  the  Lord  will  somehow  or  other  look  after  the  man 
who  tries  to  do  right.  What  I  ought  to  have  done,  in 
stead  of  going  to  be  shot  at,  was  to  have  taken  part  of  my 
profits,  hired  a  substitute,  and  let  him  do  my  fighting  for 
me.  Then  I  should  have  been  living  in  a  good  home 
up  on  the  Avenue  now,  and  he  would  have  been  wheezing 
and  grunting  down  here  on  the  Flat." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  have  had  the  sense  of  duty  per 
formed  you  have  now,  Jonas,'1  said  the  wife  assuringly,  as 
she  started  toward  the  back  room  to  attend  to  her  house 
keeping  duties.  Another  fit  of  coughing  attacked  the 
invalid,  which  was  so  violent  and  prolonged  that  she  re 
turned,  and  in  a  tone  of  alarm  asked  if  she  could  not  do 
something  for  him.  He  raised  his  hand  and  shook  his 
head.  At  length  the  paroxysm  passed,  and  as  she  wiped 
the  sweat  from  his  forehead  she  asked  anxiously: 

"  Do  you  feel  worse,  dear?  " 

"  Worse!  "  he  exclaimed,  catching  his  breath  and  press 
ing  a  hand  to  his  chest.  "No.  I'm  better'n  I've  been 
for  years.  I  tell  you  I'm  going  to  get  that  thing  up — I 
know  I  am — came  pretty  near  doing  it  then— no  mistake 
about  it.  Being  hauled  over  the  pavement  by  those  horses 
and  run  over  by  a  carriage  is  the  best  thing  that's  hap 
pened  to  me  since  that  piece  of  lead  made  a  voyage 
of  discovery  into  my  vitals.  I'll  get  the  better  of  those 
doctors  yet;  see  if  I  don't!  " 

"  I  declare,"  said  the  wife,  laughing  yet  turning  away  to 
conceal  her  tears,  "  one  would  think  you  thought  more 
of  coming  it  over  the  doctors  than  anything  else." 


A    C/fROXIC   (iKl'MBr.EK.  23 

"  Well,  Hannah/'  he  gasped,  still  panting  with  exertion,, 
but  with  a  gleam  of  mirth  in  his  eyes,  "  I  sha'n't  ever  have 
that  '  sense  of  duty  performed '  you  were  speaking  of  just 
now  until  I've  showed  those  three  stuffed  idiots  that  I'm 
neither  a  fool  nor  a  liar.  And  I'm  going  to  do  it,  too." 

"God  grant  that  you  may!"  said  the  wife  in  a  tone 
which  showed  that  she  had  little  confidence  that  her  un 
conscious  prayer  would  be  heard. 

"  I  don't  think  you've  got  much  more  confidence  in  the 
Lord's  doing  anything  for  me  than  I  have,  Hannah.  As 
a  general  thing,  you  know,  I  ain't  one  of  the  kind  he  does 
things  for.  The  men  he  favors  are  the  ones  that  take  a 
tiling  first  and  pray  for  it  afterward.  I  don't  remember 
now  that  there's  any  really  providential  good  come  in  my 
way  since  I  gave  up  my  chance  in  life  from  a  '  sense  of 
duty,'  as  you  say.  That's  just  what  it  was,  too,  and  it 
was  a  direct  result  of  my  religious  training.  It  was  a 
foolish  notion.  The  Lord  don't  change  his  laws  to  favor 
individuals.  He  couldn't  do  it.  I  see  it  now;  then  I 
didn't.  The  tree  not  only  has  to  lie  as  it  falls,  but  fall 
as  it  leans,  no  matter  who's  under  it.  All  that  is  done 
outside  of  natural  laws  he  does  through  human  instru 
ments.  It's  my  opinion,  that's  what  religion  and  the 
church  and  government  and  society  are  chiefly  meant 
for — to  equalize  the  hardship  resulting  from  the  opera 
tion  of  natural  laws.  God  means  these  things  to  act  as 
buffers  to  soften  the  jolts  to  the  weak,  and  brakes  to 
'  slow  up '  the  strong  when  they  get  on  too  much  steam. 
That's  my  idea  of  religion  and  society.  The  favor  God 
extends  to  the  good  man  who  runs  against  these  natural 
laws  and  gets  hurt,  is  shown  only  by  inclining  the  hearts 
of  men  to  sympathy.  For  the  weak,  God's  providence  is 
always  human." 


24  Ml'RVALE  EASTMAN. 

"  You  do  have  the  queerest  notions,  Jonas,"  said  the 
wife,  to  whom  such  speculations  were  evidently  not  new, 
and  who,  despite  her  inclination  to  do  so,  could  not  alto 
gether  deny  their  force.  "Of  course  we've  had  hard 
times,  but  you  cannot  deny  that  the  'strike'  was  provi 
dential  for  us.  After  you  lost  your  place  as  custodian  of 
the  bank  building,  because  it  distressed  the  directors 
so  to  hear  you  cough  when  you  went  up  and  down  stairs, 
it  did  seem  as  if  there  was  nothing  for  us  but  the  poor- 
house." 

"  Not  so  bad  as  that,  Hannah ;  it  can't  ever  come  to 
that." 

"Can't?  I'd  like  to  know  what  there  is  to  hinder  it,  if 
your  friend  gets  tired  of  working  for  nothing  and  you  don't 
get  better?  " 

"  I  wasn't  born  to  be  a  pauper,  Hannah,  you  ought  to 
know  that  by  this  time."  The  square-cut  mustache 
settled  close  above  the  broad  chin  and  a  look  of  dogged 
resolution  came  into  the  man's  face.  "  One  can't  always 
help  being  buried  as  a  pauper,  but  there  isn't  any  excuse 
for  living  as  one." 

"  But,  Jonas,  you  wouldn't ?"  exclaimed  the  wife, 

her  lips  as  ashen  as  the  hair  above  her  temples. 

"  There'll  be  no  paupers  of  my  name,"  answered  the 
husband  significantly. 

"Why,  Jonas!  Jonas!  You  wouldn't — you  couldn't— 
do  that!  " 

The  woman  fairly  shrieked,  not  from  fear,  but  in  agony 
at  the  enormity  of  the  thought  her  husband's  words 
inspired. 

"  Do  you  remember,  Hannah,"  said  the  man  coolly, 
''how  you  read  to  me  years  ago  a  story  of  the  mutiny  in 
India,  where  the  soldiers  swore  to  kill  the  ladies  of  the 


A    CHRONIC  GRUMBLER.  25 

garrison  before  they  should  be  surrendered  to  the  savage 
enemy?  You  said  it  was  right — that  no  man  ought  to 
let  the  woman  he'd  promised  to  protect  suffer  a  fate 
worse  than  death." 

"  But  that— 

"  There  ain't  anything  worse  than  charity,  Hannah,1' 
he  interrupted  gravely.  "  When  one  is  sick  it  is  no 
shame :  it  is  simply  the  debt  humanity  owes  to  one  whom 
God  or  human  carelessness  or  wrong  has  stricken.  But 
when  one  having  strength  and  willingness  cannot  get  the 
chance  to  earn  a  living,  it  is  because  some  class  have 
obtained  more  than  their  share  of  power  and  privilege, 
and  use  it  to  restrict  others'  opportunity.  Then  the 
pauper  becomes  a  slave,  and  he  who  accepts  charity  a 
dog.  Then  it  is  a  man's  duty  to  die! " 

"  But  it  would  be  wicked — how  could  you  think  of  any 
thing  so  horrible?  One  would  think  you  were  a  heathen, 
and  did  not  live  in  a  Christian  land." 

"  I  don't  want  to  worry  you,  dear,  but  do  you  think 
your  Christianity  much  better  than  my  heathenism?  How 
long  is  it  since  you  have  been  to  church,  Hannah?  " 

The  man  spoke  tenderly. 

"  A  good  while,"  the  woman  answered,  looking  down 
and  picking  a  thread  from  her  dress. 

"  Have  you  been  there  once  since  they  moved  the 
church  up-town?  " 

The  wife  shook  her  head  and  began  to  fold  her  apron 
back  and  forth. 

"Now,  what  was  the  reason,  dear?" 

"You  know,  Jonas:  I  couldn't  go  where  I'd  be  looked 
down  on.  I  owed  it  to  you,  if  not  to  myself,  not  to  do 
that,"  she  answered  passionately. 

"So  you  did;  but  don't  you  see  that  what  you  blame 


26  MURVALE   EAST  MAX. 

me  for  thinking  of  doing  had  the  same  motive  as  what 
you  did?  You  would  rather  die  than  go  among  those 
who  look  down  upon  you.  I  would  rather  kill  myself  than 
live  as  a  pauper.  I  don't  know  as  I  could  hurt  you — 
even  to  save  you  from  shame.  But  your  Christianity  and 
my  heathenism  are  certainly  off  the  same  piece.  I  sup 
pose  both  run  back  to  the  Mayflower,  in  the  root.  Some 
times  we  call  it  pride  and  sometimes  self-respect.  It  was 
not  taught  us,  but  unconsciously  instilled  into  our  natures. 
It's  a  very  poor  sort  of  an  American  who  will  live  in  a 
poor-house,  and  a  very  poor  sort  of  a  Christian  who  will 
worship  in  a  mission  church!  That's  the  way  we  both 
feel." 

"  But  I  can't  bear  to  think  that  you  should  ever  dream 
of  such  a  terrible  thing.  It  shows  how  providential  the 
strike  was,  anyhow." 

"  Yes,"  said  the  husband  with  a  queer  smile,  "  most 
people  would  say  that  was  one  of  the  times  that  Provi 
dence  was  on  my  side,  because  I  was  ready  to  drown  my 
conscience  and  do  almost  anything  for  money.  I  don't 
know  as  I  would  have  robbed  or  committed  murder  for 
gain  that  day,  but  I  suppose  I  should  have  been  ready 
to  in  a  little  while.  The  men  had  'struck/ you  know,  for 
twelve  hours  for  a  day's  work  and  a  dollar  and  seventy- 
five  cents  for  a  day's  wages.  I  knew  they  were  right. 
No  man  can  live  in  the  city  and  raise  a  family,  tidy 
and  decent,  on  anything  less;  and  the  object  of  society, 
the  purpose  God  had  in  establishing  the  church  and 
founding  governments  on  earth,  I  believe,  was  the  wel 
fare  of  the  many,  not  the  gratification  of  the  few.  The 
company  said  they  wouldn't  grant  the  demand,  and  I 
went  and  took  one  of  those  men's  places,  just  because  I 
was  out  of  a  job  and  you  were  out  of  food.  I  helped  the 


A    CHRONIC  GRUMBLER.  27 

owners  to  grind  the  workers  down  to  dependence  and 
weakness.  It  was  the  meanest  thing  I  ever  did,  Hannah, 
but  as  quick  as  I  did  it  Providence  turned  on  my  side,  you 
see.  I  simply  obeyed  the  natural,  universal  law  of  in 
dividual  desire,  and  took  what  I  could  get  without  heed  for 
others'  rights  or  needs.  I  didn't  blame  the  men  for  what 
they  did  to  me  afterward.  I  thought  while  the  horses 
were  dragging  me  round  over  the  cobble-stones,  after 
they  had  upset  the  car,  that  they  couldn't  serve  me  any 
worse  than  I  had  served  them.  But  I  was  taking  care 
of  Number  One  and  so  Providence  was  on  my  side, 
because  ^Providence  helps  them  that  help  themselves,' 
if  they  are  mean.  That  is  really  the  lesson  of  our  Chris 
tianity:  take  what  you  can  get  so  long  as  the  law  don't 
interfere,  no  matter  who's  hurt  by  your  taking  it..  It 
doesn't  mean  to  encourage  evil;  its  purpose  is  entirely 
beneficent;  but  in  order  to  secure  the  patronage  of  the 
strong  it  has  to  be  a  little  blind  to  their  foibles.  The 
company  finally  conceded  part  of  what  they  knew  was 
only  right  and  they  could  well  afford  to  allow ;  but  they 
stuck  to  us  :  scabs '  because  we'd  sold  ourselves  to  help 
them  refuse  the  whole.  That's  what  men  call  honor 
among  thieves,  you  see :  they  let  us  keep  our  places  be 
cause  we  had  helped  them  keep  what  everybody  knew 
they  ought  to  have  yielded.  That's  the  reason  they  let 
this  young  fellow  take  my  crun'  as  a  substitute." 

"  Well,  Jonas,  that  isn't  the  reason  this  man  sends  you 
the  money  every  week,  is  it?" 

The  wife  spoke  with  an  air  of  triumph  now. 

"  There  you've  got  me,  Hannah,  I  own  up.  I  can't  see 
any  possible  reason  why  he  should  do  it,  unless  it  is  to 
help  a  fellow  that  needs  help.  I  don't  believe  he's  a  de 
tective,  and  what  other  reason  he  can  have  for  mixing  up 


28  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

in  the  matter  I  can't  see.  He  rode  with  me  every  day 
and  sometimes  two  or  three  times  a  day  for  a  week  during 
the  hottest  of  it.  We  talked  the  strike  over  a  good  many 
times,  and  I  told  him  just  what  I  thought  about  that  and 
some  other  things,  too.  I  don't  know  what  would  have 
become  of  me  that  day  they  made  the  raid  on  my  car  if 
it  hadn't  been  for  him.  He  seemed  to  take  as  much  in 
terest  in  the  affair  as  anybody,  and  I  think  got  more  of 
the  stones  they  threw  than  I  did.  It  was  he  who  stopped 
the  horses,  picked  me  up,  and  finally  lugged  me  back  to 
the  sidewalk  and  stood  by  while  I  had  my  coughing  spell. 
When  it  was  over  I  saw  he  was  looking  at  me  pretty  seri- 
ous-like,  and  being  afraid  he'd  say  something  soft,  which 
would  have  been  too  much  for  me  just  then,  I  said, 
merely  to  divert  his  attention,  you  know : 
"  '  Well,  Mister,  what  do  you  think  of  this?  ' 
"  '  Cowards ! '  he  said  through  his  teeth.  I  saw  his  fists 
were  clenched,  and  one  of  them  had  a  cut  on  the  knuckle 
from  which  the  blood  was  dripping.  I  couldn't  help 
laughing,  pretty  wheezy-like  and  sort  of  hystericky  too,  I 
suppose,  thinking  of  the  fellow  he  had  struck  and  won 
dering  if  he  hadn't  got  the  toothache.  I  knew  I  was 
hurt  pretty  bad  and  thought  it  was  probably  the  end  of  my 
job,  but  I  wasn't  going  to  show  any  white  feather;  so  I 
said,  '  Yes,  it  was  cowardly,  but  it  ain't  any  more'n  I  de 
serve.'  '  How's  that?'  he  asked;  and  I  said,  'These 
men  were  getting  just  enough  to  starve  comfortably  on 
and  wanted  a  little  more.  They  ought  to  hive  had  it.  I 
put  in  and  got  the  place;  not  because  the  pay  was  what 
it  ought  to  be,  or  the  hours  reasonable,  but  because  I 
hadn't  anything  to  do  and  no  prospect  of  anything.  To 
keep  myself  from  starvation  I  helped  the  company  keep 
up  its  slaves'  hours  and  starvation  wages  for  others.  And 
this  is  what  I've  got  for  it! ' 


A   CHROMIC  GRUMBLER.  iy 

"The  crowd  on  the  sidewalk  was  mostly  strikers  and 
strikers'  wives — women  are  always  worse'n  men  at  such 
times — always  egging  'em  on.  Some  of  the  men  cheered 
at  what  I  said,  for  they  all  knew  it  was  true,  and  one  of 
the  'cops'  who  was  righting  up  the  car,  said:  'Well,  I 
vow ' — only,  you  understand,  it  wasn't  'vow '  he  said  at  all, 
but  one  must  be  polite  these  days  if  he  has  to  lie  to  do  it 
— 'you're  a  cool  one,'  said  he,  ' if 'you  are  a  scab /' 

"  Then  a  queer  thing  happened.  The  women  turned 
right  around  as  soon  as  they  heard  the  men  speaking  well 
of  me  and  couldn't  do  too  much.  One  wet  her  handker 
chief  at  the  watering-trough  and  washed  my  face,  and 
others  brushed  the  dirt  off  and  sort  of  righted  me  up 
\vhere  I  was  sitting  against  the  telegraph  pole.  I  didn't 
say  much,  for  I  hadn't  any  breath  to  spare — seemed  as  if 
every  one  I  drew  would  cut  me  right  in  two.  Finally  one 
of  'em  asked  if  I  wanted  anything.  It  struck  me  as  queer, 
for  I  thought  everybody  could  see  I  wanted  about  as 
many  things  as  a  man  could  at  one  time.  I  knew  what 
they  meant,  though,  and  more  for  the  fun  than  anything 
else,  I  said,  '  Is  there  a  minister  here?'  Then  they  all 
drew  back  and  some  of  them  crossed  themselves.  '  What 
do  you  want  of  a  minister?'  asked  the  young  man  who 
was  holding  the  lines,  looking  down  at  me  pale  and  scared 
like.  f  Oh,  nothing,'  says  I,  '  only  I'd  like  to  have  him 
take  notice  of  a  genuine  example  of  divine  justice.  A 
man,  to  keep  himself  and  wife  from  starving,  turns  in  and 
helps  keep  some  hundreds  of  other  families  at  the  starv 
ing  point,  and  this  is  what  he  gets  for  it.  One  ought  to 
be  able  to  preach  a  very  edifying  discourse  from  this  topic 
to  a  full-fed  congregation! ' 

"  Then  there  went  up  a  shout,  and  one  man  said,  *  He's 
no  chicken ! '  and  another  said,  '  If  he  is,  he's  a  game 


30  MURVALE  EASTMANS 

one!'  But  the  young  man  didn't  say  anything.  He 
didn't  laugh,  either.  I  don't  know  what  happened  then, 
but  the  next  I  knew  I  was  in  the  car  and  the  superin 
tendent  was  asking  if  anybody  would  drive  it  to  the  stables. 
The  conductor  had  '  skinned  out '  at.  the  first  volley,  and 
the  superintendent  didn't  seem  to  fancy  the  job  of  driv 
ing  himself.  Then  the  young  man  spoke  up  :  '  I  think  the 
drivers  are  right,'  he  said.  '  The  company  treated  them 
like  brutes;  but  they  had  no  right  to  injure  this  man.  I'll 
drive  his  car  for  him  until  he  gets  able  to  take  his  place, 
if  it's  a  month,  if  you'll  keep  him  on  your  rolls.' 

"Then  the  crowd  cheered,  and  the  superintendent,  see 
ing  how  the  land  lay,  said  that  was  all  right,  took  out  his 
book,  and  asked  the  fellow's  name.  He  said  he  didn't 
want  no  pay — just  send  the  money  to  me.  Then  he  told 
them  to  call  off  the  police  and  he'd  drive  the  car  to  the 
stables.  So  the  police  stepped  back,  and  he  said  to  the 
women  on  the  sidewalk — most  of  'em  strikers'  wives — 
4  Come  on,  ladies,  and  take  a  ride  at  the  company's  ex 
pense.  I'm  the  first  driver  the  company  ever  had  who 
could  treat  his  friends  to  a  ride  without  fear  of  a  spotter.' 

"  There  was  a  deal  of  laughing,  the  women  crowded  in, 
and  we  started  on.  Everybody  was  so  pleased  at  the 
turn  things  had  taken  that  we  had  no  trouble  at  all.  When 
they  took  me  out  at  the  stables  I  kind  of  fainted,  and  the 
next  thing  I  knew  I  was  here  at  home.  The  very  next 
day  the  company  began  to  weaken,  and  the  strike  was 
off  in  a  day  or  two  more ;  but  my  man  has  kept  right  on. 
I  s'pose  he  would  do  it  one  more  week,  but  I'm  not  going 
to  let  him,  if  I  can  help  it.  So  I'm  going  to-morrow  to 
look  after  a  little  business  at  Garden  Square  and  see  how 
much  I  can  stand  at  the  same  time." 

"But  to-morrow  is  Sunday,  Jonas." 


A    CHRONIC  GRVMRLKR.  31 

"  Then  we'll  go  to  church,  too,"  said  the  husband  jo 
cosely,  "  that  is  as  near  one  as  we're  ever  likely  to  get  to 
one  again,"  he  added  bitterly.  "  There's  Brother  Kishu's 
church  right  handy  by.  We  can  hear  the  music  and 
think  how  nice  it  would  be  to  go  to  heaven  in  that  kind 
of  an  elevator — and  attend  to  my  business  at  the  Square, 
too." 

"  What  kind  of  business  have  you  got  at  the  Square, 
Jonas?  "  asked  the  wife  with  good-humored  incredulity. 

"  It's  public  business,  Hannah,"  answered  the  man 
with  suspicious  gravity.  "  You  see,  I've  become  a  public 
man  since  I  was  hauled  around  in  the  rnud  on  a  public 
street — public  characters  always  have  to  get  down  into 
the  mud,  you  know.  Just  now,  the  city  fathers  are  trying 
to  open  a  street  across  the  Square,  and  they  have  invited 
me  to  go  and  look  at  it  and  say  what  I  think  about  the 
matter." 

"You!" 

"Yes." 

"  Jonas  Underwood?  " 

"The  same." 

"  Now  you're  making  game  of  me.'1 

"Did  I  ever?" 

"Did  you  ever  miss  a  chance  to!  Who  sent  you  the 
invitation,  I'd  like  to  know?" 

"  It  was  sent  me  by  special  order  of  Judge  Riggs." 

"Who  brought  it?"  asked  the  wife  incredulously. 

"  It  came  by  special  messenger,"  evasively. 

"  It  must,  for  the  carrier  hasn't  stopped  here  for  months. 
I  suppose  I  was  out  when  it  came?  " 

"  Well,  no,  my  dear,  you  were  in ;  in  fact,  you  brought 
it  yourself." 

"Jonas  Underwood,  you  know  it's  not  so.     I  haven't 


32  MURVALE  EASTMAtf. 

brought  a  letter  or  any  other  scrap  of  paper  except  that 
old  Herald  into  this  house  in  a  month !  " 

"And  it  was  in  the  Herald  I  saw  the  invitation." 

"  That's  another  of  your  games.  Show  it  to  me  now  if 
you  dare,"  the  wife  responded,  shaking  her  finger  at  him 
threateningly. 

"  Well,  if  you  won't  believe  me,  there  it  is!  " 

The  woman  took  the  paper  and  looked  where  her  hus 
band's  finger  pointed.  She  saw  an  advertisement  calling 
for  certain  persons,  and  the  heirs  of  certain  other  persons, 
"  and  all  others  having  interests  to  be  affected  thereby,  to 
come  in  and  show  cause,  if  any  they  have,  why  Rockridge 
Avenue  should  not  be  extended  through  and  across  the 
said  Garden  Square." 

She  read  it  through  carefully  and  then  said  in  a  tone  of 
disappointment: 

"  Your  name  isn't  here,  Jonas." 

"  Very  true,  my  dear,  but  one  of  those  whose  names  are 
there  had  the  distinguished  honor  of  being  my  grand 
mother,  and  as  I'm  the  only  one  left  on  earth  to  repre 
sent  her,  it  devolves  on  me  to  maintain  the  honor  of  the 
family.  Now,  as  I  can't  tell  what  objection  I  have  to 
Rockridge  Avenue  going  across  the  Square  until  I  see 
how  much  it  would  hurt  it,  I  want  to  go  and  examine  the 
ground  before  I  answer  the  summons." 

"Jonas,"  said  the  wife,  half-laughing  and  half-angry, 
"  I  do  think  you  are  the  most  provoking  man  that  ever 
lived.  I  really  believe  you  would  have  your  joke  if  you 
were  dying." 

"  Thank  you,  dear,"  answered  the  husband  dryly.  "  It 
is  not  every  man  who  has  been  married  twenty-five  years 
whose  wife  is  absolutely  sure  he  will  die  happy!  " 


THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  GOLDEN  LILIES, 


CHAPTER    II. 

THE    CHURCH    OF    THE    GOLDEN    LILIES. 

THE  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  had  been  closed  for 
more  than  two  months.  The  dust  of  the  broad  avenue 
had  settled  in  the  crevices  of  its  exquisite  faxpade,  and 
almost  hid  the  golden  lines  of  the  Scriptural  legend  carved 
upon  the  massive  doors.  The  impaled  Christ  had  looked 
coldly  down  from  the  gorgeous  window,  gashed  with  hard 
lines,  and  giving  scarce  a  hint  of  the  fire  that  hid  within 
the  twice  ten  thousand  pieces  of  stained  glass  which 
made  it  the  artistic  wonder  of  an  age  given  to  labored 
effects  rather  than  grandeur  or  simplicity.  Only  when 
the  evening  sun  flashed  through  the  window  high  above 
the  pulpit  in  the  western  gable  and  fell  upon  the  thorn- 
crowned  head,  with  the  wreath  of  golden  lilies  just  above 
it,  did  there  seem  to  be  a  soul  in  the  vast  edifice  standing 
silent  and  empty  by  day  and  by  night.  All  the  other 
windows  were  carefully  screened  lest  even  their  tinted 
light  might  dim  the  freshness  of  the  matchless  interior. 

But  twice  in  all  the  sultry  summer  had  the  softly  modu 
lated  chimes  told  aught  except  the  hourly  message  of 
time's  flight.  The  fitful  breezes  of  the  dawn,  the  glister 
ing  heat-waves  of  the  panting  noon,  and  the  stifling  air  of 
night  alike  had  borne  to  the  ears  of  the  city's  toilers 
greetings  from  the  tower  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  telling  that 
an  hour  had  passed.  That  was  all  the  service  the  church 
had  done  for  humanity  during  this  time — all  the  revenue 
3 


34  MURVALE  EASTMAK. 

for  good  derived  from  the  hundreds  of  thousands  of  dol 
lars  invested  in  that  heap  of  white  marble  and  veined 
porphyry  and  the  almost  priceless  corner-lot  on  which  it 
stood.  Perhaps  not  all.  It  may  be,  the  lesson  of  the  pic 
tured  Christ  was  not  wholly  lost,  nor  the  pointing  of  the 
slender  spires  quite  unheeded. 

The  city  was  proud  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden 
Lilies.  It  was  one  of  the  sights  no  stranger  missed.  It 
was  especially  beautiful  when  the  moonlight  fell  upon  its 
marble  towers  and  tempered  with  soft  shadows  the  some 
what  garish  whiteness  of  its  ornate  walls.  It  was  known, 
too,  that  the  full  moon  of  summer  sometimes  imitated 
the  sun's  trick  and  made  up  for  the  lack  of  interior  illu 
mination,  by  shining  through  the  one  unguarded  window 
and  casting  its  mellow  light  upon  the  tinted  Christ-head 
with  an  absolutely  rapturous  effect.  Hundreds  had  watched 
night  after  night  for  these  rare  displays.  Let  us  hope  the 
sight  brought  consolation  to  some — that  even  the  tones 
of  the  faithful  bells  were  not  lost,  but  found  an  answering 
chord  in  some  weary  soul  that  gave  back  an  echo  of  bet 
tered  impulse  or  higher  resolve. 

Twice  only  in  all  those  weeks  had  the  dust-laden  doors 
been  opened — once  to  welcome  a  bride  whose  nuptials 
accident  or  economy  had  crowded  over  into  the  "heated 
term.7'  It  was  a  dull,  depressing  ceremony,  though  the 
hour  was  morning  and  the  bride  as  beautiful  as  a  dream. 
The  unused  church  seemed  full  of  vengeful  echoes.  The 
volunteer  ushers  performed  their  unaccustomed  duties 
but  awkwardly.  The  white  ribbon  which  needlessly  fenced 
off  the  invited  guests  from  the  curious  on-lookers  appeared 
ludicrously  out  of  place.  The  loiterers  whom  the  open 
doors  and  waiting  carriages  attracted,  fanned  themselves 
and  mopped  their  sweaty  brows  as  they  languidly  watched 


THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  GOLDEN  Lff.fES.  35 

the  ceremony,  commenting,  in  what  could  hardly  be  called 
undertones,  upon  its  incidents.  The  clergyman  was  a 
stranger  who  seemed  afraid  of  the  echoes  in  the  great 
temple.  The  organ's  notes  were  harsh,  as  if  the  dust  had 
settled  in  the  unused  pipes.  There  was  even  a  discordant 
clangor  in  the  bells  as  they  pealed  out  the  "  Wedding 
March.''  "  Out  of  season  "  was  plainly  stamped  on  the 
whole  affair,  and  one  could  almost  hear  the  unpleasant 
comments  of  absent  friends  upon  the  unusual  proceeding. 
July  weddings  were  not  looked  upon  with  favor  by  the 
congregation  of  the  Golden  Lilies.  Poor  bride!  the  very 
church's  blessing  on  her  new  estate  seemed  to  have  in  it 
an  echo  of  foreboding. 

One  other  time  the  doors  had  swung  open.  One  of 
the  richest  on  the  long  list  of  "  solid  "  men  in  the  congre 
gation  was  brought  home  and  laid  in  solemn  pomp  before 
its  altar,  that  his  funeral  pageant  might  traverse  the  broad 
aisles  of  the  Church  of  the  Golderi  Lilies.  All  the 
"  heavy "  men  in  the  city  and  many  prudent  ones  who 
desired  to  be  thought  "  heavy  "  came  to  do  homage  to  the 
dead  man's  success.  There  were  few  mourners,  and 
those  did  not  seem  overwhelmed  with  grief;  but  every 
thing  was  in  good  taste — everything  except  a  woman 
whom  none  knew,  who  wore  mourning  so  deep  as  to  at 
tract  attention,  led  a  child  by  the  hand  and  seemed  deeply 
afflicted,  though  she  did  not  join  the  funeral  cortege. 

But  at  length  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  has  re 
sumed  business.  The  doors  are  once  more  opened  to 
welcome  its  accustomed  throngs.  The  bells  ring  out  a 
joyous  invitation,  both  to  those  who  have  been  afield  and 
to  those  who  have  hidden  behind  closed  blinds  during 
the  "heated  term."  The  September  rains  have  washed 
its  white  front.  The  golden  text  upon  the  door  has  been 


36  MURVALR    EAST  MA  A*. 

retouched.  The  dove,  down-shooting  toward  the  altar, 
has  been  freshly  gilt.  The  slender  Gothic  spires,  that 
stand  like  heavenward-pointing  sentinels  at  either  angle 
of  the  gorgeous  front,  are  gay  with  freshly-burnished  tips 
and  newly-painted  frames  about  the  lancet  dormers  which 
show  like  peep-holes  amid  the  mottled  slates.  The  famous 
window,  which  of  itself  would  have  made  the  church  im 
mortal  in  the  world  of  art,  has  been  furbished  until  every 
component  piece  burns  with  its  own  especial  luster.  The 
aisles  have  been  recarpeted  and  the  upholstery  about  the 
organ  and  pulpit  renewed.  There  is  a  hint  of  russet  and 
green  where  there  was  blue  and  gold  before.  The  former 
trimmings  were  not  in  the  least  frayed — hardly  did  the 
silky  nap  show  a  trace  of  pressing  palms — but  it  was  not 
"  good  form  "  for  a  church  like  the  Golden  Lilies  to  use 
always  the  same  upholstery.  Esthetic  effects  are  by  no 
means  to  be  despised,  and  soothing  influences  no  doubt 
tend  to  a  devotional  frame  of  mind.  Then,  too,  blue  and 
gold  were  out  of  harmony  with  the  autumn  styles,  and  no 
warmth  of  religious  fervor  could  enable  the  ladies  of  a 
congregation  like  the  Golden  Lilies  to  feel  quite  at  ease 
in  a  setting  of  blue  and  gold  while  they  were  dressed  in 
olive  and  brown.  One  might  as  well  plant  a  sunflower  in 
a  bank  of  periwinkle.  If  they  were  to  develop  a  Chris 
tian  spirit,  it  was  needful  that  they  should  have  harmoni 
ous  surroundings.  So  the  fittings  of  the  church  have 
been  made  to  conform  with  the  requirements  of  fashion,  in 
order  that  no  sense  of  incongruity  shall  mar  the  wor 
shipers'  devotion  during  the  ensuing  year. 

The  streets  have  that  curious  stillness  which  character 
izes  the  godless  Sabbaths  of  the  heated  term  when  the 
good  and  rich  are  all  afield,  and  only  the  poor  and  wicked 
stroll  aimlessly  along  the  echoing  streets.  The  country 


THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  GOLDEN  LILIES.  37 

strollers  have  not  yet  become  familiar  with  municipal  en 
vironment.  The  wayfarers  walk  quietly;  the  echo  of  the 
pavement  jars  upon  ears  that  have  been  unaccustomed  to 
the  sound  of  footsteps.  The  trees  in  the  little  park  that 
flanks  the  church  upon  the  southward  are  beginning  to 
show  touches  of  color  among  the  green  foliage.  Soft, 
yellow  leaves  lie  about  in  the  grass,  which  shows  fresh  and 
green  above  the  withered,  dust-choked  spikes  of  summer. 
It  is  one  of  the  city's  breathing  places,  but  only  respectably 
dressed  loiterers  are  allowed  to  linger  in  its  purlieus.  Some 
elderly  gentlemen  sit  here  and  there  upon  the  benches 
enjoying  the  sunshine.  There  are  nurse-girls,  with  white 
caps  and  pretty  faces  too,  and  young  men  with  large 
canes,  who  watch  the  nurses  as  they  go  back  and  forth 
with  their  charges.  The  horse-chestnuts  along  the  avenue 
are  shedding  their  blotched,  lemon-tinted  leaves  and  drop 
ping  their  green  bolls  and  brown  nuts  upon  the  pavement. 
The  leaves  rustle  pleasantly  as  the  ladies  troop  past,  their 
dresses  brushing  them  aside  and  their  boots  crushing 
them  daintily. 

It  was  of  splendid  quality,  the  train  of  worshipers 
which  poured  through  the  great  arched  entrance  into  the 
vestibule  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies.  The  sum 
mer  sun  and  wind  had  given  strength  and  color ;  rest  and 
change  had  driven  away  the  traces  of  social  dissipation 
and  over-work.  "  Rich  and  cultured  "  would  have  been 
the  verdict  of  the  most  careless  observer  who  had  watched 
them  mount  the  shining  steps  and  seen  the  greeting  of 
the  waiting  ushers.  The  confidence  of  success  was  in 
every  mien.  They  were  not  gaudily  dressed — not  many 
of  them  at  least — but  in  the  very  plainest  of  the  costumes 
there  was  a  richness  and  costliness  which  was  more  im- 


38  MTRl'ALE   EASTMAN. 

pressive  than  the  gleam  of  jewels.  Even  these  were  not 
lacking ;  but  they  were  noticeable  for  quality  rather  than 
profusion. 

The  men  were  less  numerous  than  the  women,  and  most 
of  them  were  above  middle  age.  Of  the  younger  men, 
there  was  a  class  who  seemed  less  at  ease  and  self-assured 
than  the  others.  One  wondered  whether  there  were  not 
some  thrifty  seekers  for  advantage  among  them — men  who 
regarded  church-going  as  a  sort  of  investment  and  favored 
the  Golden  Lilies  because  of  the  "  solid  "  character  of  its 
membership.  Who  can  blame  the  well-limbed  servants 
of  Mammon  if  they  improve  such  opportunity  to  make 
acquaintance  under  favorable  auspices  with  well-dowered 
maidens  who  frequent  a  shrine  which  is  itself  a  guaranty 
of  wealth? 

At  the  right  of  the  inner  door  which  opened  on  the 
central  aisle  stood,  on  this  first  morning  of  the  church- 
going  season,  Mr.  Wilton  Kishu,  the  leading  layman  of 
the  congregation.  The  edifice  was  almost  as  often  re 
ferred  to  as  "  Kishu's  church  "  as  by  the  name  by  which  it 
had  been  dedicated.  Indeed,  the  name  was  said  to  have 
been  given  it  at  his  suggestion,  or  more  properly  in  defer 
ence  to  his  leadership  in  everything  pertaining  to  its  con 
struction.  He  was  not  the  richest  man  whose  name  was 
on  the  roll  of  members,  but  his  activity  took  a  more  posi 
tive  turn  than  theirs  to  church  affairs.  He  had  given 
more  than  any  other  toward  the  erection  of  the  church, 
and  was  indefatigable  in  attending  to  the  details  of  its 
furnishing  and  adornment.  In  fact,  it  was  chiefly  through 
his  influence  that  some  half  a  score  of  years  before  the 
church  had  decided  to  remove  from  the  dingy  down-town 
edifice  upon  which  sin  and  traffic  were  encroaching  with 
annoying  confidence,  to  a  more  eligible  location.  The  old 


THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  GOLDEN  LILIES.          39 

sanctuary  had  become  so  distasteful  and  inconvenient  to 
the  prosperous  and  fastidious  members  whose  residences 
lined  the  up-town  avenues,  that  many  left  it  and  joined 
other  churches.  When,  therefore,  a  rich  brewer  offered 
an  almost  fabulous  sum  for  the  consecrated  ground  and 
the  historic  structure,  it  was  held  to  be  a  clear  indication 
of  the  will  of  Providence  that  the  time-honored  landmark 
of  the  church  in  which  the  fathers  worshiped  when  they 
brought  their  imperiled  faith  across  the  sea,  should  be 
abandoned  and  the  altar  of  the  Lord  set  up  in  a  locality 
more  convenient  to  his  favored  children.  There  were 
some  who  shed  tears  at  the  prospect  of  leaving  a  spot 
sanctified  by  so  many  sweet  and  sacred  memories,  but 
they  were  mostly  poor,  though  of  course  deserving,  people 
who  were  unable  to  contribute  much  for  the  support  of 
the  church. 

Mr.  Kishu  had  prepared  three  lists  of  the  communicants 
and  their  yearly  offerings.  One  composing  the  names  of 
those  whose  yearly  donations  it  required  four  figures  to 
express,  one  of  those  requiring  three  figures,  and  the 
other,  those  for  whom  two  or  even  one  sufficed.  All  of 
the  first  but  one  favored  the  change;  so  did  nearly  all 
the  second.  Very  many  of  the  third  wept,  but  were  silent. 
Of  course  they  could  make  no  serious  protest.  What 
could  such  a  body  of  weaklings  do  toward  "  running  "  a 
church  without  the  presence  and  favor  of  those  whom  the 
Lord  had  blessed  not  only  with  abundance,  but  also  with 
liberality?  The  one  rich  man  who  dissented  from  the 
general  verdict  did  protest,  however,  bitterly  and  vehe 
mently;  and  when  the  removal  was  decided  upon  he  with 
drew  from  the  church  and  had  never  been  inside  the  walls 
of  the  new  edifice.  Indeed,  he  ceased  attending  church 
altogether,  and  had  been  heard  to  say  very  bitter  things 


40  MURVALE   EAST  MAX. 

about  his  former  brethren.  It  was  a  loss  very  deeply  re 
gretted,  as  he  was  not  only  one  of  the  richest,  but  among 
the  most  liberal,  of  the  congregation. 

It  was  known  that  some  of  the  old  members  would  be 
unable  to  follow  the  church  in  the  proposed  hegira.  If 
they  should,  it  was  not  likely  that  the  new  edifice  would 
prove  altogether  homelike  to  those  to  whom  the  duskiness 
of  the  old  structure  was  a  welcome  shield  to  the  shabbi- 
ness  of  their  attire,  and  it  was  kindly  agreed  that  the 
church  should  forever  maintain  a  "  down-town  mission," 
in  order  that  these  impecunious  members  might  at  no 
time  suffer  for  want  of  one  to  break  to  them  the  Bread  of 
Life. 

The  change  was  altogether  profitable  to  the  church 
and  congregation,  in  a  material  point  of  view,  at  least. 
The  price  the  brewer  paid  for  the  old  sanctuary  was  half 
enough  to  build  the  new  temple.  Mr.  Kishu  gave  the  lot 
outright — an  act  of  charity  which  was  rewarded  with 
notable  promptness,  by  a  providential  enhancement  of 
the  value  of  realty  in  the  immediate  neighborhood,  which, 
as  accident  would  have  it,  chiefly  belonged  to  Mr.  Kishu. 
Besides  this,  he  defrayed  the  entire  cost  of  the  great  win 
dow  which  covered  nearly  the  whole  front,  sending  down 
on  either  side  the  great  portal  three  narrow  panels  that 
shot  up  with  fine  effect,  beside  the  wide  expanse  above 
the  central  arch,  which  stretched  up  to  the  very  peak  of 
the  gothic  roof,  where  a  crown  of  thorns,  in  which  the 
thorns  were  almost  hid  by  golden  lilies,  overhung  the  head 
of  the  suffering  Christ.  In  the  very  apse,  the  artist — 
without  the  knowledge  of  the  donor,  of  course — had  deftly 
and  delicately  traced  in  crystal  white  letters,  which  showed 
like  porcelain  against  the  duller-tinted  mass,  the  legend, 
"  W.  K."  Some  said  the  lily-crown  was  a  delicate  compli- 


THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  GOLDEN  LILIES.  41 

ment  to  Lilian,  the  golden-haired  daughter  of  Mr.  Kishu; 
and  others,  that  it  was  a  quaint  conceit  of  the  child,  now 
grown  to  be  a  woman,  whom  even  his  enemies  admitted 
that  he  loved  better  than  himself.  At  all  events  it  was  a 
conceit  worthy  of  the  honor  it  received. 

Mr.  Kishu  was  the  chief  factotum  of  the  Church  of  the 
Golden  Lilies.  He  managed  the  finances ;  engineered  the 
Sabbath-school;  looked  after  the  Mission,  and,  generally, 
took  care  that  the  Golden  Lilies  was  in  the  van  of  all 
good  and  worthy  works.  His  clerks  were  not  required  to 
belong  to  the  church,  but  it  was  natural  that  he  should 
incline  most  favorably  toward  those  who  worshiped  at 
his  especial  shrine.  Besides,  he  found  that  the  work  of 
the  church  was  much  more  faithfully  performed  if  in 
trusted  to  the  hands  of  those  dependent  upon  him  for 
their  salaries.  He  generally  arranged  for  it  to  be  done 
either  before  or  after  business  hours,  and  in  this  manner 
was  enabled  to  run  the  affairs  of  the  church  much  more 
cheaply  than  could  otherwise  have  been  done.  As  for 
the  clerks,  they  were,  of  course,  anxious  to  retain  their 
employer's  favor.  He  was  upon  the  whole  a  good  man 
to  serve.  He  did  not  pay  as  high  wages  as  some,  but  in 
variably  gave  each  of  his  employes  a  present  at  Christ 
mas  which  was  nearly  equal  to  the  deficit  in  salary.  By 
this  means  he  obtained  at  small  expense  the  reputation 
of  being  a  very  liberal  employer.  His  favorites  among 
his  clerks  were  employed  as  ushers,  and  were  liberally 
paid  by  the  church,  as  they  deserved  to  be,  for  their  ser 
vice  was  very  nearly  faultless. 

Mr.  Kishu  stood  outide  the  middle  door  and  welcomed 
each  of  the  returning  members  of  the  congregation  with 
unaffected  warmth.  He  was  not  only  devoted  to  the 
Golden  Lilies,  but  he  had  a  genuine  affection  for  every 


42  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

one  who  added  to  it  either  wealth  or  dignity.  He  did 
not  move  from  this  place,  but  those  who  did  not  have  to 
pass  through  the  door  by  which  he  stood  approached  for 
a  shake  of  the  hand,  or,  if  he  were  particularly  engaged, 
contented  themselves  with  the  smile  and  welcoming  ges 
ture  which  showed  his  recognition  of  their  presence. 

So  the  bells  rang  out  a  welcome,  and  the  congregation 
of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  settled  once  more 
into  their  accustomed  places.  There  were  a  few  strange 
faces;  some  empty  seats:  but  the  organ  pealed  forth  the 
same  mighty  waves  of  sound ;  the  stained  windows  flooded 
the  splendid  auditorium  with  a  soothing,  sensuous  light, 
while  the  soprano  was  hardly  inferior  to  the  prima  donna 
of  the  coming  opera  season. 


CHAPTER    III. 

LALEIN. 

THE  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  could 
catch  a  glimpse  of  the  assembling  congregation  by  open 
ing  a  ringer's  breadth  the  door  that  led  from  his  study  to 
the  pulpit,  though  his  view  was  somewhat  obstructed  by 
the  floral  decorations  of  the  platform.  He  had  directed 
these  himself,  almost  giving  offence  to  some  of  his  parish 
ioners  whose  conservatories  were  full  of  rare  specimens, 
by  declining  their  offers.  Bunches  of  golden-rod  flanked 
the  desk,  through  which  gleamed  the  red  berries  of  the 
ash  and  spikes  of  fruit-laden  thorn.  In  the  background 
were  great  banks  of  the  dark  green  leaves  and  brown 
Heads  of  the  Typha  latifolia,  pierced  with  flaming  shafts 
of  the  gladiolus,  and  above  them  branches  of  maple  and 


LALEIN.  43 

dogwood  glowing  with  the  wondrous  tints  of  early  autumn. 
Through  the  whole  church  floated  a  faint  perfume  of  the 
tuberose,  not  a  blossom  of  which  was  visible.  The 
platform  on  which  the  pulpit  stood  seemed  covered  with 
the  common  beauties  of  field  and  forest,  while  heaped  up 
on  the  altar-table  were  ripe  fruits,  with  ears  of  corn  and 
yellow  heads  of  grain.  There  was  something  almost  bar 
baric  in  the  glowing  profusion  of  this  display,  the  effect 
of  which  was  greatly  enhanced  by  the  elegance  of  the 
surroundings  and  the  fervid  lights  which  fell  upon  the 
decorations  through  the  stained  glass  of  the  windows. 
The  congregation  were  very  proud  of  their  young  pastor's 
love  of  flowers  and  the  ease  with  which  he  used  even  the 
most  garish  contrasts  to  produce  harmonious  results;  but 
never  had  he  succeeded  quite  so  well  as  in  this  autumnal 
welcome  to  his  people.  It  was  with  difficulty  that  the 
gathering  worshipers  could  restrain  an  inclination  to 
applause. 

This  fondness  for  nature's  products  was  in  harmony 
with  the  man.  Square-shouldered,  bronze-faced,  with 
muscles  like  whip-cord,  the  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies 
not  only  loved  wild  flowers,  but  liked  to  seek  them  in  their 
own  habitats.  He  was  a  man  who  relished  storm  as  well 
as  sunshine,  and,  though  scarce  above  the  average  height, 
not  one  whom  a  blackguard  would  care  to  face  when  in 
spired  by  righteous  wrath.  Strong-armed,  whole-hearted, 
and  "level-headed,"  was  the  popular  estimate  of  his  char 
acter.  He  was  well-bred,  too — that  was  a  matter  of 
course,  being  an  Eastman — a  skilled  sportsman  and  a 
yachtsman  of  renown.  Men  liked  him;  women  admired 
him.  Mentally,  he  was  solid  rather  than  brilliant ;  mor 
ally,  he  seemed  to  have  a  sort  of  unconscious  reliance 
upon  God  and  an  utter  contempt  for  the  devil. 


44  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

The  pastor  watched  the  gathering  audience  for  a  mo 
ment,  his  face  flushing  with  pleasure.  The  giants  who 
wielded  the  material  forces  of  civilization,  the  culture 
which  molded  its  literature,  and  the  fashion  which  shaped 
society,  were  all  there,  waiting  eagerly  for  his  teaching.  Or 
was  it  teaching  which  they  sought?  If  not,  what  was  the 
desire  that  impelled  their  assembling?  Worship?  What 
was  it,  and  what  was  his  relation  to  it?  Was  Christianity 
only  "  a  form  of  worship,"  and  he  a  mere  figure  in  that 
form?  A  cloud  settled  upon  his  face.  He  could  not 
doubt,  had  never  doubted  in  his  life.  God,  beneficence, 
and  truth  were  fundamental  postulates  of  his  existence. 
And  the  Christ — ah,  if  he  knew  the  Christ-will,  he  would 
be  quite  content.  Did  he  know  it?  The  thought  trou 
bled  him.  He  turned  away  with  a  sigh  and  began  to 
pace  up  and  down  the  spacious  and  luxurious  study. 
Why  should  he  question  as  to  the  path  of  duty?  Was 
not  the  Word  clear?  Was  not  the  truth  plain?  Was 
not  Christianity  the  same — always  the  same,  now  and 
forever?  Had  it  not  been  one  and  the  same  thing  to  all 
peoples  for  countless  generations?  Stop;  had\\.  been  the 
same?  Was  the  Word  always  identical  in  significance,  or 
was  it  one  thing  to  one  age,  one  clime,  one  people,  and 
more  or  less  to  another?  Might  it  not  be  that  he  had 
not  seen  all  that  he  ought  to  have  seen,  known  all  that  he 
ought  to  have  known,  of  the  message  he  had  undertaken 
to  declare — of  the  role  he  had  assumed  in  the  great  Pas 
sion  Play  of  life? 

As  he  turned  in  his  hasty  walk,  the  young  pastor  read 
above  the  door  which  led  to  the  pulpit,  the  te«t  traced 
in  golden  letters  in  the  original  Greek:  "Grant  unto  thy 
servants,  that  with  all  boldness  they  may  speak  thy  word." 

He  ceased   his  hurried  walk  and   gazed  fixedly  at  the 


LALEItf.  45 

words  of  the  apostles  while  they  waited  tremblingly  the 

crucial  test  of  the  new  faith  upon  the  morrow: 

JO?  roT?  du>j/.<>:$  (Too  IJ.STO.  -nafiffyffias  -d<trfi  AaAeTv  rov  Aoyov  (Tou. 

Who  placed  the  legend  there  and  insisted  on  the  graceful 
lines  of  the  original  text?  Who  shall  say  that  the  Infinite 
had  no  thought,  when  He  inspired  its  inscription,  of  this 
day  when  Murvale  Eastman  should  read  its  characters 
and  be  troubled  by  their  import? 

"Meta  parrhasias  pases"  "  with  all  boldness,"  he  mur 
mured  with  that  instinctive  tracing  of  radical  significance 
which  characterizes  the  lover  of  the  Greek  tongue. 
"Hardly  'boldness' — freedom,  fullness,  rather.  It  must 
have  required  l  boldness,'  but  unrestraint  was  the  quality 
of  speech  they  prayed  for  strength  to  exhibit.  They 
needed  '  boldness '  that  they  might  display  unrestraint." 

He  walked  more  slowly  back  and  forth.  "Lalein!  "  he 
said  musingly.  "  What  a  strange  word !  I  never  thought 
of  it  before.  It  was  Luke  who  used  it,  too,  and  the 
'  beloved  physician '  knew  his  Greek.  He  tells  us,  tells 
me,  to  prattle  like  a  child,  to  speak  artlessly  and  with  un 
restraint.  Does  he  mean  also  without  reservation  ?  Am  I 
called  upon  to  say  to  this  people — the  people  over  whom 
I  have  been  set  as  a  shepherd,  a  leader — all  that  I  feel, 
all  that  I  believe,  about  the  Christ-thought,  the  Christ- 
purpose,  the  mission  of  the  Christ  to  man?  Can  I? 
Dare  I  ?  " 

A  look  of  quiet  resolution  began  to  show  upon  his 
troubled  face,  but  the  blood  left  his  cheeks  and  his  lips 
grew  white.  His  hands,  browned  as  they  were  by  sun 
and  wind,  grew  suddenly  cold.  He  rubbed  them  together 
as  if  upon  the  deck  of  his  yacht  in  the  chill  of  a  summer 
storm.  The  bell  was  tolling  its  last  warning  to  the  loiter 
ers.  Upon  the  table  by  his  side  lay  his  hat  and  gloves. 


46  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

Before  him  was  his  sermon  neatly  type-written ;  with  it  a 
letter,  creased  and  worn.  He  took  the  sermon  in  his 
hand  and  mechanically  turned  its  pages.  The  organ  had 
begun  its  greeting  to  the  worshippers  reassembled  after 
the  summer  vacation.  An  artist  presided  at  the  key 
board.  How  the  echoes  swelled  and  pulsed  through  the 
great  arches,  in  glad  congratulation  first,  then  softly  rising 
into  solemn  strains  of  grateful  praise ! 

The  pastor  put  aside  his  sermon  and  sank  upon  his  knees, 
holding  the  letter  strll  before  him.  An  usher  opened  the 
door  from  the  audience-room.  Seeing  the  pastor  in  the 
attitude  of  prayer,  he  closed  it  quickly  and  drew  back  in 
confusion,  whispering  to  Mr.  Kishu,  who  was  on  his  way  to 
speak  a  last  word  to  his  pastor  before  the  service  began. 
It  was  this  good  man's  habit — a  very  kind  one,  people 
thought — always  to  give  the  minister  a  send-off  of  approval, 
a  metaphorical  pat  upon  the  back  before  he  went  to  his 
work.  This  time  he  turned  back  and  went  on  tiptoe  to 
his  pew.  Everybody  wondered  that  he  did  so. 

" '  Father,  if  it  be  possible  let  this  cup  pass  from  me! '  " 
said  the  kneeling  pastor,  still  holding  the  creased  letter 
before  him.  He  thought  of  the  bloody  drops  that  fell  in 
the  midnight  garden  as  he  wiped  the  sweat  from  his  brow. 
The  Master  was  about  to  die :  he  was  ordained  to  live. 
Would  it  have  been  easier  for  Murvale  Eastman  to  die  for 
the  faith  he  had  inherited,  or  for  the  pastor  of  the  Church 
of  the  Golden  Lilies  to  live  and  obey  the  injunction  which 
barred  his  pathway  to  the  sacred  desk?  Again  he  uttered 
the  wail  of  Gethsemane.  *'  Nevertheless,  not  my  will!" 
he  finally  murmured. 

The  organ  ceased  its  greeting  and  gave  forth  the  trem 
ulous  note  of  expectation  which  was  wont  to  herald  the 
pastors  coming.  How  often  had  he  waited  for  it !  Never 


LALEIN.  47 

before  had  it  been  dreaded.  He  rose  to  his  feet,  the 
letter  in  his  left  hand:  with  it  the  card  containing  the 
hymns  and  selections  for  the  day.  He  looked  at  his  ser 
mon  as  if  questioning  what  disposition  he  should  make  of  it. 

"Lalein"  he  murmured,  "speak  freely,  artlessly:  'By 
the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings.' " 

He  laid  the  sermon  on  the  table,  noiselessly  swung  back 
the  door,  walked  through  the  rifts  of  homely  flowers,  and 
stood  in  his  place  behind  the  desk.  The  organ  sounded 
out  a  peal  which  has  still  something  of  the  military  flavor 
of  the  age  in  which  it  was  composed,  and  the  congrega 
tion  rose  and  joined  in  that  grandest  of  Christian  melo 
dies,  the  clarion  notes  of  a  soldier's  exultant  paean  of 
praise  and  aspiration.  As  the  echoes  died  away  the  pas 
tor  raised  his  hand,  the  audience  bowed  their  heads ;  a 
few  words  of  reverent  invocation;  the  congregation  re 
sumed  their  seats  and  a  hymn  was  announced. 

The  opening  exercises  were  brief.  Many  noted  the 
pallor  of  -the  pastor's  visage,  and  some  wondered  at  the 
huskiness  of  his  voice.  The  lessons  which  he  read  seemed 
strangely  inappropriate.  The  collection  was  omitted, 
though  the  ushers  had  taken  up  the  silken  bags  which 
were  the  badges  of  their  office  and  waited  for  the  accus 
tomed  opportunity.  The  pastor  did  not  or  would  not  see 
that  the  official  suggesters  of  charitable  desire  only 
waited  for  him  to  resume  his  seat  before  beginning  the 
task  of  public  solicitation  for  means  to  carry  on  the  work 
of  the  church.  He  stood  looking  fixedly  at  the  congre 
gation.  The  closed  Bible  lay  upon  the  desk  before  him, 
upon  it  the  hymnal.  His  left  hand  rested  on  them,  hold 
ing  the  crumpled  letter;  his  right  wandered  aimlessly 
back  and  forth  over  the  smooth,  velvet  surface  of  the 
newly-upholstered  desk. 


4$  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

*'  Speak  freely,  without  restraint,"  he  was  saying  over 
and  over  to  himself.  Did  it  mean  also  without  reserva 
tion? 

Why  did  he  keep  asking  himself  this  question?  What 
was  there  in  the  wondering  faces  of  the  congregation  of 
the  Church  of  the -Golden  Lilies  to  cause  him  to  hesi 
tate  as  to  his  duty?  A  cloud  settled  on  Lilian  Kishu's 
face,  tears  gathered  in  her  eyes,  as  she  saw  his  embarrass 
ment.  The  audience  looked  at  one  another  in  surprise. 
The  minister's  unaccustomed  hesitation  produced  a  feel 
ing  of  uncertainty,  almost  of  annoyance.  Only  Mr.  Kishu 
was  undisturbed.  A  look  of  calm  expectancy  was  on  his 
face.  He  had  heard  of  the  minister  at  prayer  a  moment 
before  entering  the  pulpit,  and  was  repeating  over  and 
over  to  himself  the  couplet : 

For  Satan  trembles  when  he  sees 
The  weakest  saint  upon  his  knees. 

He  was  sure  that  when  such  a  man  as  Murvale  Eastman 
sank  to  his  knees  before  beginning  his  year's  task,  great 
results  would  follow. 

The  one  thing  that  the  Golden  Lilies  needed  to  com 
plete  its  renown  among  the  churches  was  a-revival.  Stren 
uous  efforts  to  secure  one  had  repeatedly  been  made,  but 
without  success.  Numerous  plans  had  been  adopted  for 
special  work  among  the  young  people,  meaning  thereby 
the  young  men  of  the  congregation.  Singularly  enough, 
the  larger  portion  of  the  young  women  were  already  mem 
bers  of  the  church.  It  seemed  to  be  a  matter  of  course 
with  them,  as  if  it  were  hardly  respectable  that  they 
should  remain  outside  the  fold.  But  the  young  men — 
that  is,  the  young  men  of  the  best  families — seemed 
strangely  indifferent,  although  the  sons  of  the  worshipers 
at  the  Golden  Lilies  were  no  worse  than  other  young  men 


LALELV.  49 

of  their  wealth  and  social  position.  Of  course  young  men 
of  means  could  n  ;t  bs  expected  to  lead  the  lives  of  an 
chorites.  Such  things  do  not  happen  in  these  days. 

Mr.  Kishu  had  frequently  been  heard  to  say  that  he 
would  gladly  give  five  thousand  dollars  if  the  Golden  Lilies 
could  have  "a  real  old-fashioned  revival."  Considering 
that  he  could  have  no  personal  interest  in  the  matter, 
himself,,  all  the  members  of  his  household  being,  as  he 
was  wont  to  say,  already  "  within  the  shelter  of  the  fold,'1 
this  was  considered  an  extremely  liberal  offer  for  a  divine 
blessing.  But  neither  this  nor  repeated  conference  and 
prayer-meetings,  nor  even  the  persistent  use  of  "  Moody 
and  Sankey  hymns,"  had  served  to  produce  the  desired 
result.  More  than  once  the  question  had  been  mooted 
of  procuring  a  professional  "evangelist,"  and  turning  the 
church  and  congregation  over  to  him  to  "  run  "  as  he  saw 
fit,  until  the  object  of  their  desire  had  been  attained. 
This  proposition,  to  his  credit  be  it  said,  Mr.  Kishu  always 
vigorously  and  successfully  opposed.  The  Church  of  the 
Golden  Lilies,  he  declared,  could  not  consistently  adopt 
such  methods — tricks  of  the  trade,  if  he  might  be  allowed 
to  call  them  such — which  would  be  entirely  proper  for  a 
church  occupying  a  less  prominent  position.  Besides, 
though  there  might  be  a  good  many  conversions  at  such 
meetings,  he  doubted  if  they  would  be  of  a  kind  that 
would  be  of  much  advantage  to  the  Golden  Lilies.  What 
they  needed,  if  he  might  speak  plainly,  was  a  revival  among 
their  own  set. 

This  desideratum,  for  the  first  time,  Mr.  Kishu  thought 
he  now  saw  a  reasonable  prospect  of  having  realized.  He 
was  a  shrewd  observer  of  human  nature,  and  from  what 
he  had  himself  seen  of  his  pastor  since  his  return  from 
the  customary  vacation,  as  well  as  from  the  information 
4 


5o  MURVALE   EAST. if  AX. 

conveyed  to  him  by  the  usher,  he  felt  satisfied  that  the 
young  minister  had  returned  to  his  work  very  deeply  im 
pressed  with  his  responsibility;  and  knowing  his  ability 
and  earnestness,  the  manager  of  the  Golden  Lilies  antici 
pated  therefrom  the  very  best  results.  Already  he  imag 
ined  a  genuine  Pentecostal  season  begun,  and  saw  in  the 
daily  papers  naming  head-lines  of  a  "  Great  Revival  in  Mr. 
Kishu's  Church."  So,  while  others  wondered  at  the  em 
barrassment  of  the  young  minister,  Mr.  Kishu  calmly 
folded  his  hands  above  the  comfortable  expanse  of  his 
rotund  person,  closed  his  eyes,  and  waited  with  a  con 
tented  smile  the  sensation  he  felt  sure  the  congregation 
was  about  to  experience. 

The  congregation  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies 
were  very  proud  of  their  pastor.  He  was  young,  gifted, 
sprung  from  a  family  both  old  and  rich,  and  withal  "  a 
perfect  gentleman."  He  had  succeeded  one  of  the  most 
noted  luminaries  of  the  church,  who  had  been  imported  at 
enormous  expense,  before  the  passage  of  the  Alien  Labor 
Contract  law,  to  do  honor  to  the  pulpit  of  the  finest 
church  in  all  the  land,  which  in  great  part  had  been  built 
with  the  money  of  the  rich  brewer.  There  were  some  who 
thought,  when  Dr.  Eudimon's  portly  form  appeared  in  the 
new  pulpit,  that  he  would  never  have  come  to  the  old  con 
venticle,  whose  trussed  sides  were  now  bulging  with  the 
weight  of  heaped-up  tons  of  malt,  while  its  front  still  held 
the  brown  stone  on  whose  stained  surface  was  yet  plainly 
visible  the  mocking  inscription,  "  Dedicated  to  the  Service 
of  God,  December  — ,  MDCC— ."  However,  he  had 
served  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  faithfully,  and  with 
rare  tact  had  not  only  endeared  himself  to  his  people,  but, 
without  awakening  any  jealousy  among  his  brethren,  had 
advanced  the  church  over  which  he  presided  to  a  front 


LALEIN.  51 

rank  in  its  denomination  as  a  promoter  of  good  works. 
Not  only  was  Mr.  Kishu  his  right-hand  man,  but  he  had 
taken  care  to  have  it  understood  that  the  Golden  Lilies 
was  Mr.  Kishu's  church  rather  than  Dr.  Eudimon's.  As  a 
fruit  of  this  wise  policy  of  "  booming  "  his  leading  parish 
ioner,  he  soon  found  that  the  grateful  Kishu  lost  no  op 
portunity  of  returning  the  favor  in  kind.  The  result  was 
that  wherever  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  was  known, 
Mr.  Kishu  became  a  household  word  and  Dr.  Eudimon  a 
revered  name. 

Just  why  the  vigorous  and  accomplished  young  divine 
who  ministered  to  a  humble  church  under  the  shadow  of 
the  Rocky  Mountain  peaks,  was  selected  after  a  full  year 
of  mourning  to  succeed  the  lamented  Eudimon,  it  would 
be  difficult  to  say.  Murvale  Eastman  had  never  found 
out.  He  had  come  to  his  work  without  any  spirit  of  self- 
seeking,  however,,  and  in  the  two  years  which  had  suc 
ceeded  his  transplantation,  the  church  had  found  no  rea 
son  to  regret  its  choice.  His  modesty  was  linked  with  so 
much  merit  and  accompanied  with  so  many  pleasant  qual 
ities  that  Mr.  Kishu  obtained  great  credit  for  his  discov 
ery,  and  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  was  everywhere 
congratulated  on  having  such  a  layman  and  such  a  pastor. 

Never  before  had  he  proved  insufficient  to  any  occasion, 
public  or  private.  Now  his  voice  was  noticeably  trem 
ulous  and  broken  as  he  told  the  chapter  and  verse  of  his 
text,  while  the  crumpled  letter  which  he  held  before  him 
shook  so  perceptibly  that  some  of  the  congregation  won 
dered  if  he  were  not  ill.  They  did  not  know  how  their 
faces  swam  before  him — Mr.  Kishu's  fat  visage  strangely- 
mixed  up  with  the  sweet,  tearful  countenance  of  his 
daughter,  and  a  dark  face,  framed  in  mourning  bands, 
under  the  gallery,  with  one  that  the  worms  were  gnawing 


5  2  MURVALE  KASTMAN. 

in  a  costly  tomb  across  the  river.  Eastman  was  not  the 
man  to  give  way  to  nervousness,  however.  His  mind  was 
made  up.  The  color  came  back  to  his  cheeks,  steadiness 
to  his  eye,  and  his  voice  was  calm  enough  as  he  repeated 
the  words  of  his  text : 

"  There  were  two  men  in  one  city,  the  one  rich  and  the 
other  poor" 

Mr.  Kishu's  eyes  opened ;  so  did  his  mouth.  A  thrill 
of  surprise,  almost  of  horror,  ran  through  the  congregation. 
The  sensation  the  manager  predicted  had  come,  but  it 
was  not  of  the  sort  he  expected.  What  did  the  pastor  of 
the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  mean  by  choosing  such  a 
text  at  a  time  when  Labor  and  Capital  were  at  variance, 
and  the  strike  which  had  been  "  on  "  so  long  in  the  city 
was  only  half  settled  ? 


CHAPTER   IV. 

PLUSIUS    AND    PENES. 

IF  the  congregation  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies 
were  startled  by  the  text  their  pastor  announced,  they 
were  still  more  surprised  at  the  manner  in  which  he  pre 
sented  his  subject.  There  was  nothing  of  the  smooth, 
unruffled  flow  of  well-chosen  words  to  which  they  had 
been  accustomed.  The  speaker's  discourse  was  an  evi 
dent  attempt  to  lead  his  hearers  along  a  path  not  entirely 
familiar  to  his  own  feet.  His  language  bore  the  marks  of 
recent  forging.  His  convictions  had  not  been  dulled  by 
too  engrossing  study  of  the  form  in  which  they  should  be 
presented. 

"'There  were  two  men  in   one  city' — the  same  city, 


PLLTSJVS  AXD   PENES.  53 

the  Wi-dom  of  the  Seventy  hath  it — 'the  one  rich  and 
the  other  poor,'  "  he  repeated.  "  This  sentence  is  an  epit 
ome  of  history.  Designed  for  a  particular  case,  it  is  yet 
a  universal  truth.  In  it  is  found  the  whole  continued 
story  of  humanity.  Not  in  one  city  only,  but  in  all  that 
have  dotted  the  fair  earth's  surface ;  not  in  one  land  alone, 
but  in  all  climes  and  countries;  not  in  a  single  age,  but 
in  all  the  cycles  through  which  the  wail  of  human  woe  has 
sounded — always  and  everywhere,  side  by  side,  have  dwelt 
the  rich  and  the  poor.  And  always  their  juxtaposition  has 
provoked  the  same  inquiries,  in  every  thoughtful  mind,  in 
every  God-fearing  heart:  'Why  are  they,  the  one  Rich 
and  the  other  Poor?  Must  they  be  forever  two,  separate 
and  distinct,  and  dwell  forever  in  the  same  city?' 

"  These  are  questions  which  philosophy,  humanity, 
and  civilization  have  long  asked  —  which  Christianity  has 
often  echoed,  sometimes  with  an  upward  and  sometimes 
with  a  downward  inflection ;  questions  which  have  some 
times  provoked  unbelief,  sometimes  paralyzed  faith,  and 
often  nerved  hopelessness  to  endure  undeserved  wrong. 
They  constitute  the  hidden  mystery  of  that  mighty  prob 
lem  which  each  groaning  To-day  propounds  to  every  ex 
ultant  To-morrow.  Are  the  Rich  to  grow  richer  forever, 
and  the  Poor  to  grow  forever  feebler  and  more  dependent? 
Are  the  Rich  to  be  forever  counted  the  'better  class,'  and 
the  Poor,  the  worse?  Are  the  Rich  to  be  always  regarded 
as  the  chief  supporters  of  law  and  order,  government,  re 
ligion,  society,  and  the  Poor  forever  esteemed  the  nurslings 
of  discontent  and  peril?  Must  it  always  be  accounted 
better  to  be  rich  than  to  be  wise,  or  strong,  or  pure?  Is 
the  dollar-mark  the  real  measure  of  human  values?  Shall 
the  wrong  of  To-day  forever  bolster  the  evil  of  To-mor 
row?  Is  charity  the  only  obligation  that  attaches  to 


54 


MURVALE   EASTMAN. 


the  Rich?  Is  submission  to  the  inevitable  the  highest 
virtue  of  the  Poor? 

"  Some  phases  of  this  question  the  past  has  answered, 
sometimes  doubtfully,  often  weakly  and  imperfectly,  al 
ways  with  blood  and  tears.  Each  age  has  deemed  its 
share  of  the  eternal  problem  the  hardest  of  all  to  solve, 
the  obstacles  it  faced  the  most  difficult  to  overcome. 
Each  new  advance  is  always  heralded  as  the  last,  all-suffi 
cient  triumph  of  Right  over  Wrong;  the  Armageddon, 
after  which  is  to  come  eternal  peace,  because  the  cause 
of  all  evil  is  finally  destroyed.  We  call  it  to-day  the  con 
flict  between  Labor  and  Capital.  These  terms  are  only 
names  for  convenient  abstractions,  painted  balls  which 
the  juggler  with  words  tosses  in  the  air  for  the  amusement 
of  gaping  multitudes.  There  is  no  conscience,  no  man 
hood  in  them.  They  are  merely  dull,  inert,  imaginary 
forces,  whose  relations  are  to  be  solved  by  algebraic  for 
mula,  regardless  of  men  and  women,  human  souls  and 
human  weal  and  woe.  There  is  no  such  entity  as  Labor ; 
there  is  no  such  fact  as  Capital.  They  simply  represent 
contrasted  conditions  of  human  life. 

"The  prophet  was  wiser  than  we  are.  He  dealt  with 
the  concrete.  Men  were  the  subject  of  his  immortal  par 
able — '  the  one  Rich  and  the  other  Poor.'  The  Wisdom 
of  the  Seventy  stated  the  contrast  in  two  words  of  the 
Greek  tongue :  the  one,  '  Plusius ' — rich,  full  to  overflow 
ing,  burdened  with  abundance ;  the  other,  '  Penes ' — poor, 
a  worker  for  his  daily  bread,  the  child  of  pen-uxy.  The 
one,  a  man  having  more  than  he  can  consume ;  the  other 
having  always  to  struggle  for  enough.  How  has  civiliza 
tion  defined  the  relations  of  these  two  men?  Why  should 
we  care  for  the  things  about  which  we  prate?  Wealth  is 
but  a  coat,  the  bedizening  of  a  soul.  La-bor  is  only  an 


PLUSIUS  AND   PENES. 


55 


application  of  human  force.  It  is  the  man  who  is  the  im 
portant  thing,  whether  hid  by  a  garment  of  cloth  of  gold, 
or  naked  and  sweaty,  struggling  with  adversity. 

"  What  has  Christianity  to  say  to  believers  thus  differ 
ently  conditioned?  Is  burdening  wealth  or  crippling  pen 
ury  the  inevitable  rescript  of  eternal  fate?  Can  we  an 
swer  these  questions?  Is  it  permissible  to  ask  them? 

"  Plusius  and  Penes!  We  all  know  them:  they  are  our 
neighbors:  they  'dwell  in  J:he  same  city'  with  us — some 
times  in  the  same  street.  As  men,  they  are  very  much 
alike.  They  love  and  hate;  do  and  dare  and  suffer.,  each 
like  the  other.  Plusius  may  be  wise  and  Penes  foolish ; 
or  Penes  may  be  wise  and  Plusius  an  ass.  Plusius  may 
be  good  and  Penes  bad;  or  Penes  may  be  pure  and  Plu 
sius  foul.  Man  for  man,  Penes  is  able  to  accomplish  less, 
and  Plusius  to  do  more,  both  of  good  and  of  evil;  but 
Penes  and  his  friends  greatly  outnumber  Plusius  and  his 
friends.  Plusius  is  apt  to  be  the  better-natured,  because 
he  is  better  fed.  Plusius  is  generally  the  shrewder,  and 
Penes  the  braver.  Penes  makes  wonderful  discoveries, 
and  Plusius  profits  by  them.  Plusius  loves  his  wife  and 
children  and  delights  to  see  them  decked  in  gay  apparel. 
Penes  loves  whom  he  loves  just  as  fervently;  his  heart 
aches  to  sec  them  over-worked  or  under-fed;  and  his  brain 
grows  wild  when  rags  and  squalor  touch  them.  They 
change  places  sometimes ;  for  the  masque  of  life  is  full  of 
contradictions.  Then  Plusius  wonders  how  he  could  ever 
have  been  like  Penes,  and  Penes  marvels  that  he  should 
have  been  like  Plusius. 

"What  is  the  difference  between  these  classes?  Do 
not  call  them  classes,  my  brother;  species  and  genus,  they 
are  alike.  You  remember  the  queen-bee.  There  is  but 
one  in  a  hive.  She  has  half  a  million  subjects,  a  standing 


56  MURTA1.E    EASTMAN. 

army  of  a  hundred  thousand ;  courtiers  and  suitors  by  the 
thousand,  too.  -Yet  she  was  only  one  of  the  despised 
neuters;  the  counterpart  of  those  who  fall  down  and  wor 
ship  and  obey,  who  fight  and  serve  and  suffer,  that  she 
may  rule  in  safety  and  know  no  want.  What  makes  the 
distinction?  She  was  separated  while  yet  a  worm  from 
her  white,  shapeless  fellows  who  were  destined  to  the 
common  neuter's  lot.  A  thousand  of  them  were  killed  by 
poison-stings  in  babyhood  that  her  life  might  not  be  cor 
rupted  by  their  proximity.  The  cell  she  occupied  was 
isolated  from  the  young  swarm's  life ;  a  royal  body-guard 
watched  continually  over  her.  The  nectar  she  was  fed 
upon  was  doubly  distilled.  Slothfulness  rather  than  activ 
ity  was  forced  upon  her.  What  others  do  for  themselves, 
willing  servants  insisted  upon  doing  for  her.  So  she  -grew 
up  a  queen,  sleek  and  bright,  and  no  doubt  fascinating  to 
them  that  pay  court  to  her:  but  the  others  grew  into 
brown,  uncomely  workers,  lean,  sting-armed,  busy,  anx 
ious,  and  bustling;  unpleasant  but  useful  creatures  from 
whose  labors  come  the  sweets  of  the  hive.  The  queen's 
children  will  be  like  them  too,  all  but  the  drones. 

"  In  like  manner  Plusius  differs  from  Penes,  not  in 
nature,  character,  or  worth.  Plusius  need  not  work  with 
his  hands  that  he  may  live ;  Penes  must.  That  is  all. 
Take  away  that  difference  and  you  could  not  distinguish 
the  one  from  the  other. 

"  Plusius  may  work  harder  than  Penes ;  hand  and  brain 
may  be  fuller;  he  may  even  accomplish  more  by  his  in 
dividual  exertion;  but  it  is  not  needful  that  he  should  in 
order  that  he  and  his  children  may  live  in  comfort.  If  he 
labors  it  is  only  to  increase  his  store,  to  widen  the  distance 
between  himself  and  Penes,  or  to  excel  his  o\vn  friends  in 
luxury,  power,  or  display.  Penes,  on  the  other  hand,  must 


J'LL'SIUS  AND  PENES. 


57 


work — work  or  suffer — work  or  starve — he  and  his  loved 
ones.  It  matters  not  whether  for  himself  or  at  another's 
bidding;  whether  for  daily  dole  or  in  the  hope  of  recom 
pense  from  a  ripening  harvest ;  whether  the  alternative  be 
instant  or  a  little  delayed — it  is  still  the  same.  Plusius 
may  number  the  days  of  his  life  without  toil  if  he  chooses 
so  to  do.  By  his  own  good  fortune,  by  his  cunning  or 
his  wit,  by  the  flotsam  which  the  tide  of  to-day  brings  to 
his  feet,  or  the  ebb  of  yesterday  heaped  about  his  cradle, 
he  is  relieved  from  the  hard  conditions  which  rest  on 
Penes'  shoulders.  But  for  this  one  thing,  Plusius  might 
be  Penes;  and  Penes,  Plusius. 

"So  they  dwell  'in  the  same  city/  with  only  this  wall 
between  them — this  wall  which  Plusius  insists  shall  not 
be  torn  down,  and  which  Penes  is  always  endeavoring  to 
scale,  only  to  join  with  Plusius  in  his  outcry,  if  he  suc 
ceeds.  Plusius  says  he  represents  Society,  Civilization, 
and  Religion;  that  Society  demands  for  its  salvation  that 
the  barrier  between  him  and  Penes  shall  forever  remain. 
In  this  he  is  right,  if  by  '  society '  we  mean  existing  forms 
and  conditions,  to-day's  life  and  to-day's  thought. 

"But  is  Society  right,  always  right,  entirely  right?  It 
has  always  claimed  to  be  right,  though  it  has  not  always 
accepted  the  same  standard  of  right ;  nor  in  all  lands  ap 
proved  the  same  forms.  In  one  land  or  another  it  has 
sanctioned  all  evil;  at  one  time  or  another  it  has  upheld 
every  crime.  Evil  is  often  ancient ;  the  good  as  often 
new.  Only  a  few  centuries  ago,  Might  was  the  literal 
measure  of  Right.  Then  the  King's  grace  was  the  sub- 
ject's,,  only  safeguard.  Not  many  lives  ago,  Society  gave 
the  virgin  to  the  lord's  embrace  as  a  right.  Within  a  life 
time  in  our  own  land,  the  master  might  lawfully  compel 
the  soul  he  owned  to  submit  to  his  lust,  or  take  life  for 


58  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

disobedience.  Society  has  burned  men  and  denied  wo 
men  ;  beaten,  crucified,  slain  old  and  young,  fair  and  foul, 
the  man  crowned  with  a  noble  purpose,  the  child  at  play 
and  woman  big  with  young.  These  things  it  did  always 
in  the  name  of  Right,  of  Law,  of  Mercy,  in  order  to  pre 
serve  its  institutions  and  to  save  the  world  from  evil  men 
who  taught  that  Society  was  not  infallible. 

"  In  the  old  days  Society  made  martyrs  of  those  who 
questioned  its  dictates;  in  these  latter  times,  it  brands 
them  as  visionaries.  And  many  there  be,  in  good  sooth, 
that  deserve  it.  Of  them  that  were  slain,  not  all  were 
martyrs.  Of  them  that  clamored  for  change,  not  a  few 
were  worse  than  fools.  Yet  out  of  it  all  there  has  come 
some  good. 

Society  may  not  be  infallible,  but  it  is,  after  all,  the 
best  average  of  every  age.  It  is  more  likely  to  be  right 
than  they  who  seek  for  change,  because  the  many  are 
apt  to  be  wiser  than  the  few.  Sometimes  the  few  inocu 
late  the  many,  so  that  then  the  multitude  come  over  to  the 
side  of  the  few.  Then  Society  changes  front  and  ridicules 
and  denounces  what  it  yesterday  revered.  By  and  by,  we 
look  back  at  the  change  and  call  it  Progress.  Sometimes 
it  is,  and  sometimes  it  only  seems  to  be.  Change  for  the 
sake  of  change — mere  experiment — is  always  evil;  only 
that  which  weakens  wrong  or  strengthens  right  is  wise. 

"  Then,  too,  Society  is  most  likely  to  be  right  because 
it  has  Religion  on  its  side.  Sometimes  it  is  one  religion, 
and  sometimes  another.  Yet  all  are  divine  to  their  disci 
ples.  The  standard  of  morals  is  not  always  the  same; 
the  ideal  of  manhood  not  universal.  To-day  there  are 
twice  as  many  Buddhists  as  Christians,  and  half  as  many 
Mahometans.  Society  is  Christian,  Mahometan,  or  Bud 
dhist,  according  to  the  prevailing  ideal.  It  leans  by  turns 


PLUSIUS  AND 


59 


on  each  of  these  systems  of  religious  faith  for  support, 
and  claims  its  customs  and  ideas  to  be  true  and  perfect, 
because  they  are  or  profess  to  be  in  harmony  with  the 
precepts  and  ideals  which  each  faith  claims  to  be  infalli 
ble  and  divine.  Two  elements  are  involved  in  this  assump 
tion  of  perfectibility:  the  character  of  the  ideal  and  the 
conception  of  that  ideal.  The  ideal  may  be  true  and  the 
conception  false,  or  the  ideal  itself  may  be  a  false  one. 
"  He  was  wise  who  sang : 

1  '  Human  hopes  and  human  creeds 
Have  their  roots  in  human  needs.' 

"All  religious  ideals  are  no  doubt  the  best  that  the  age 
and  people  which  cherish  them  are  able  to  formulate ;  no 
matter  what  their  origin  or  character.  The  best  that  any 
man  is  capable  of  apprehending,  that  he  believes  the 
Divine  to  be.  The  best  that  any  age  approves,  that  it 
sets  up  as  its  religious  ideal. 

Our  own  age  in  its  vital  forces  is  Christian.  Our  soci 
ety  is  builded  on  Christian  precepts  and  ideals  as  the  past 
has  i?iterpreted.  Is  it  perfect?  Is  the  ideal  true  and  its 
exemplification  faultless?  The  ideal  claims  to  be  a  re 
ligion,  fitted  to  the  wants  and  promoting  the  best  interests 
of  universal  humanity — a  religion  of  equal  rights,  man 
hood,  liberty,  and  universal  righteousness. 

"  Is  this  Christian  ideal  of  ours  the  one  true  conception 
of  human  relations  on  which  society  may  safely  rest? 
Why  pause  to  argue?  It  has  appealed  for  judgment  to 
results:  'By  their  fruits  ye  shall  know  them.'  In  the 
eighteen  centuries  last  past,  it  challenges  comparison  with 
any  and  all  other  forms  of  belief  and  unbelief,  in  the  good 
done  to  humanity;  and  the  onus  lies  heavily  upon  any 
that  would  impeach  its  claim.  It  has  not  always  been 


60  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

right,  nor  always  the  same.  (Let  us  speak  the  truth  whether 
the  heavens  fall  or  not;  that  is  all  we  little  ones  can  do 
for  human  betterment.)  It  has  worn  many  guises :  the 
cowl  of  the  monk,  the  robe  of  the  priest,  the  mail  of  the 
soldier.  It  has  shed  blood  for  error;  crucified  for  unbe 
lief;  burned  at  the  stake  for  innocent  dissent:  and  sanc 
tioned  'the  sum  of  all  villanies.'  Every  age  and  people 
have  colored  it  with  their  vices  and  their  weaknesses ;  but 
it  has  exalted  the  virtues  and  glorified  the  strength  of 
each.  Under  its  influence  man  has  grown  in  stature,  in 
liberty,  in  aspiration,  and  in  courage  to  demand  his  rights. 
It  has  sometimes  upheld  the  wrong ;  but  much  oftener 
sustained  the  right.  In  form  and  interpretation  it  has 
often  changed ;  in  spirit  and  the  claim  of  beneficent  de 
sign  to  man,  it  has  remained  the  same,  steadfast  and  un 
alterable. 

"  Society,  builded  on  its  interpretation  of  the  Christian 
ideal,  boasts  ever  the  immutable  character  of  its  require 
ments,  forgetful  that  Religion  teaches  what  we  believe 
rather  than  what  we  know.  Society  is  but  the  shell  of 
religious  belief,  its  visible  form  and  expression.  Every 
now  and  then  it  grows  too  strait,  cramps,  crushes,  cracks, 
bursts.  Then  another  grows,  only  to  meet  a  like  fate. 
Forms  are  never  eternal.  The  shell  that  is  big  enough 
for  to-day  is  too  narrow  for  to-morrow.  In  correcting  one 
line  another  is  deflected.  Our  society  is  the  visible  form 
of  our  idea  of  Christianity ;  nothing  more,  nothing  less.  • 
It  is  the  popular  concretion  of  Christian  ethics,  of  the 
good  enjoined  and  the  evil  prohibited  by  Christian  philos 
ophy.  Is  it  perfect?  Examine  your  own  measure  of  what 
may  be  done  and  what  must  not  be  left  undone,  before 
answering. 

"One  thing  is  indisputable:  Christianity  has  fitted  itself 


ft  US/ US  AND  PENES.  6r 

to  human  needs  better  than  any  other  form  of  religious 
thought,  and  is  broader,  tenderer,  and  truer  in  its  aspira 
tion  to-day  than  ever  before.  As  a  consequence,  it  has 
developed  a  truer,  better  manhood  than  the  world  has  ever 
previously  known.  The  undeniable  proof  of  this  is  found 
in  the  fact  that  the  weak  demand  more  of  the  strong, 
and  demand  it  more  hopefully  and  more  valorously,  than 
they  ever  did  before.  But  Society,  which  is  the  exponent 
of  the  accepted  Christian  ideal,  declares  the  parable  of  the 
angry  prophet  to  be  the  final  verdict  of  the  Divine  in  re 
gard  to  human  conditions.  Is  it  true?  Is  this  the  kernel 
of  our  Christian  faith — cthe  one  Rich  and  the  other 
Poor'? 

"  The  Carpenter  of  Nazareth  was  one  of  Penes'  friends. 
He  worked  for  his  father  by  day,  and  at  night  went  fish 
ing  with  Peter  and  John.  His  hands  were  hard,  calloused, 
blistered.  His  nails  were  black  and  broken,  and  his  Jew 
ish  gaberdine  coarse  and  grimy.  The  sandal-strings  chafed 
his  feet,  and  sweat  and  dust  defiled  his  body.  He  lived 
in  peace,  after  the  Tetrarch  died,  for  thirty  years  laboring 
for  his  daily  bread.  Then  he  wandered  about,  living 
where  he  might  and  as  he  might,  stirring  up  discontent 
among  the  people.  Society  disowned  him.  The  recog 
nized  interpreters  of  the  Divine  will  condemned  him. 
The  Romans  despised  him.  The  poor  revered  but  dis 
trusted  him,  A  lover  of  pelf  betrayed  him.  Society 
counted  him  a  tramp;  religion  esteemed  him  a  scoffer; 
politically  he  was  regarded  as  a  'dangerous  character.' 
Hardly  one  in  this  audience  would  permit  his  counterpart 
to  enter  the  front  door.  The  Christ  whom  being  risen  we 
worship,  we  would  not  take  to  our  table,  being  incarnate. 
1  We  have  no  use  for  rags  and  grime  but  to  pity  them.' 
He  wore  poverty  as  a  crown.'' 


62  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 

A  startle. 1  look  flashed  over  the  upturned  faces  of  the 
congregation  as  they  listened  to  this  picture  of  One  whom 
their  fancy  had  so  idealized  that  the  stern  facts  of  his 
environment  seemed  almost  sacrilegious.  Not  heeding 
the  effect  of  his  words,  the  speaker  continued: 

"  This  is  our  Prophet,  Son  of  God,  Deliverer  of  the 
World,  the  '  Word  that  was  with  God  in  the  beginning/ 
It  matters  not  what  we  call  him.  He  is  our  ideal.  His 
words  are  our  religion.  He  is  the  head  of  what  we  call 
'the  church,' a  body  with  many  creeds  though  but  one 
Christ.  It  is  on  his  precepts  that  society  is  founded,  by 
his  doctrines  that  citizen  and  subject,  people  and  sover 
eign,  profess  to  be  guided.  He  is  the  standard  of  right 
for  all  and  in  all  things. 

"  Plusius  and  his  friends  tell  us  that  he  is  the  God  both 
of  the  Rich  and  the  Poor,  putting  the  Rich  in  the  lead,  as 
is  but  natural.  They  assure  us  that  his  teaching  is  that 
the  Rich  should  be  reconciled  to  abundance  and  the  Poor 
to  poverty;  that  the  Rich  should  be  content  with  what 
they  can  get  and  the  Poor  with  what  they  have.  They 
tell  us  that  he  who  was  cradled  in  a  manger,  and  sweated 
in  a  Galilean  carpenter  shop  until  thirty  years  of  age,  is 
especially  fond  of  costly  temples;  delights  in  luxurious 
surroundings;  and,  since  his  crucifixion,  has  become  a 
'gentleman,'  quite  fit  to  be  received  into  good  society  so 
long  as  he  remains  invisible.  Upon  the  same  conditionf 
they  are  willing  that  he  should  visit  the  hovel  as  well  as 
the  palace,  and  even  be  on  intimate  terms  with  the  Poor. 
You  see  this  condition  prevents  any  breach  of  social 
order.  An  invisible  friend  cannot  introduce  discreditable 
acquaintances.  He  may  assure  the  dweller  in  the  hovel 
that  he  sits  at  rich  men's  tables  and  is  cheek-by-jowl  with 
Plusius  and  his  friends;  they  do  not  mind  that,  as  long 


PLUS! US  AND   PE.VES.  63 

as  he  does  not  bring  the  man  of  rags  and  grime  into  their 
circle. 

"  Plusius  admits  it  to  be  his  duty  to  be  kind  and  pitiful 
to  the  poor.  He  is  bound  to  give  free  alms,  because 
the  poor  are  starving;  to  found  hospitals,  because  the 
poor  are  sick ;  to  build  churches,  because  the  Lord  loveth 
a  cheerful  giver;  to  support  the  preached  Word,  that  the 
poor  may  have  the  ' good  news  '  preached  unto  them;  to 
support  the  charities  of  the  church,  that  suffering  may  be 
relieved.  By  so  doing  he  claims  that  he  fulfils  the  Mas 
ter's  injunction,  '  Do  good  to  all  men,'  and  exemplifies 
that  '  righteousness  greater  than  the  righteousness  of  the 
scribes  and  Pharisees,'  which  the  Master  makes  the  in 
flexible  measure  of  Christian  duty  and  the  immutable  con 
dition  of  salvation. 

"  Penes  and  his  brethren  believe  in  the  Man  of  Nazareth 
too — that  is,  the  major  part  of  them.  Some  wonder  how 
he  can  reconcile  such  conflicting  ideas,  and  others  reject 
him  because,  as  they  say,  '  he  gives  everything  to  the  Rich 
and  exhorts  the  Poor  to  be  content  with  what  is  left.'  We 
must  be  patient  with  them.  These  friends  of  Penes  can 
not  understand  why  this  'very  God,'  who  regulates  all 
things,  should  give  to  one  abundance  greater  than  he  can 
consume,  and  to  another  an  appetite  he  can  never  hope  to 
assuage.  They  may  be  very  unreasonable,  but  a  hungry 
man  should  be  pardoned  if  his  logic  is  not  absolutely 
faultless. 

"  Plusius  regards  the  matter  quite  otherwise.  He  ex 
plains  that  wealth  and  poverty  come  by  divine  ordainment, 
each  being  to  Rich  and  Poor  respectively  a  means  of 
grace;  poverty  being  given  to  one  as  a  cross  and  wealth 
to  another  as  a  temptation.  Of  course  he  would  rather 
be  among  the  tempted  than  one  of  the  tried;  but  -it  is  not 


64  MURVALE  EASTMAN'. 

a  matter  of  choice.  God,  who  knoweth  all  things,  hath, 
he  contends,  '  ordained  one  to  sickness  and  another  to 
health ;  one  to  riches  and  another  to  poverty,'  not  merely 
for  the  good  of  each,  but  for  the  good  of  all  and  his  own 
glory.  Wealth  and  poverty,  he  maintains,  are  essential 
conditions  of  the  divine  order,  without  which  Society 
could  not  exist,  and  consequently  he  who  seeks  to  limit 
or  remove  either  of  these  co-ordinate  and  immutable  con 
ditions,  is  guilty  of  sacrilegious  assault  upon  the  divine 
purpose ;  is,  in  short,  the  enemy  of  Society  and  the  foe  of 
God.  Hath  not  'he  whose  word  can  ne'er  be  broken' 
said,  '  The  poor  ye  have  always  with  you'?  and  if  the 
poor,  of  course  also  the  rich;  since  it  follows,  as  the  night 
the  day,  that  where  the  one  is  the  other  always  must  be, 
So  the  two  men  dwell  'in  the  same  city,'  and  if  Plusius' 
view  is  correct,  must  forever  remain,  '  the  one  rich  and  the 
other  poor,'  types  of  the  eternal  will,  examples  of  divine 
justice,  love,  and  power! 

"  Be  not  afraid,  my  brother.  '  Seek  and  ye  shall  find  ' 
is  as  true  of  to-day's  appointed  task  as  it  was  of  yester 
day's.  Plusius  and  his  friends  may  be  in  error;  Penes 
and  his  friends  may  not  have  sought  aright.  The  angry 
eye  is  rarely  a  faithful  guide,  and  the  torch  borne  by  a 
bloody  hand  seldom  shows  the  road  to  truth.  Thus  far, 
Plusius  and  Penes  have  indeed  dwelt  together  c  in  the  same 
city,'  but  never  without  discord  and  clamor  and  blood. 
There  have  been  many  changes  in  their  relations— and 
it  is  not  yet  certain  that  there  will  not  be  many  more — 
without  shock  to  Society  or  harm  to  Religion.  It  is  for 
us  to  determine  whether  there  shall  be,  or  whether  the 
pitiful  story  of  the  past  shall  be  forever  repeated." 

Murvale  Eastman   had  stood  with  the  crumpled  letter 


AND  PF.NF.S.  65 

in  his  left  hand,  speaking  without  gesture,  almost  without 
change  of  tone,  as  if  compelled  by  a  thought  which  would 
not  be  denied  expression.  He  hardly  turned  to  the  right 
or  the  left,  yet  each  member  of  the  wondering  congrega 
tion  seemed  to  feel  his  eyes  looking  down  into  theirs.  As 
he  concluded,  he  opened  the  letter  and  laid  it  upon  the 
book  before  him. 

"I  have  not  spoken  these  words,"  he  said,  "entirely  of 
my  own  will.  In  common  with  all  thoughtful  men,  my 
attention  has  long  been  directed  to  these  questions.  In 
common,  I  trust,  with  all  believers,  I  have  prayed  for 
light.  A  month  ago  I  received  this  letter.  The  hand 
that  penned  it  was  already  cold  when  it  reached  me.  As 
a  member  of  this  congregation,  the  writer  rebuked  me  for 
not  having  discussed  the  relation  of  Capital  and  Labor 
from  this  platform,  and  desired  that  it  should  be  made 
the  subject  of  to-day's  discourse,  asking  especially  that  I 
should  impress  upon  the  poor  contentment  with  their  lot. 
The  demand  troubled  me.  Of  the  poor — the  weak,  help 
less  poor  to  whom  the  Master  referred  when  he  said,  'The 
poor  ye  have  always  with  you ' — I  knew  that  very  few, 
perhaps  none,  were  to  be  found  in  this  congregation. 
Why  should  I  preach  to  the  Rich  of  the  duty  of  the  Poor? 

"  Hearing  that  a  strike  was  imminent,  I  felt  impelled  to 
return  to  the  city.  I  already  knew  what  Plusius  thought. 
From  childhood  I  have  been  familiar  with  his  views.  I 
thought  it  needful  that  I  should  know  also  what  Penes 
felt.  During  the  period  that  has  intervened  since  the 
receipt  of  this  letter  I  have  tried  to  learn.  I  have  led  a 
poor  man's  life,  in  a  poor  man's  home;  but  I  have  not 
learned  much.  The  heart  of  a  people  is  not  an  open 
book.  The  lens  one  uses  in  its  study  must  be  ground 
and  fitted  for  the  work.  The  whole  truth  cannot  be 
5 


66  -I/  L'A'  I  '.-I  LK 

gathered  from  statistical  tables.  One  must  feel  as  well 
as  understand,  before  he  can  measure  a  wrong  or  appre 
ciate  the  need  for  a  remedy. 

"  I  had  prepared  a  sermon  on  the  subject  suggested, 
Labor  and  Capital.  It  did  not  please  me.  These  terms, 
I  now  first  realized,  are  only  abstractions.  God  deals 
always  with  living  forces.  As  I  started  to  approach  this 
desk  I  read  the  injunction  the  Church  of  the  Golden 
Lilies  has  placed  before  the  eyes  of  its  pastors,  '  Grant 
that  thy  servants  may  speak  thy  Word  with  all  freedom.' 
So  I  have  spoken  my  thought,  showed  some  of  the  diffi 
culties  that  becloud  to-day's  duty.  I  do  not  know  exactly 
where  the  pathway  of  right-thinking  and  well-doing  lies. 
I  have  found  no  absolute  specific  for  human  ills.  I  only 
know  that  there  are  ills  for  which  no  remedy  has  thus  far 
been  found,  and  I  believe  that  somewhere  the  light  of 
divine  truth  is  shining  clear  and  bright,  and  that  if  we 
follow  the  landmarks  set  up  for  our  guidance,  in  the  Mas 
ter's  words,  we  shall  find  it." 

A  prayer,  a  hymn,  the  benison  of  peace,  and  the  con 
gregation  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  wonderingly 
dispersed  to  their  several  homes. 


CHAPTER    V. 

GARDEN    SQUARE. 

GARDEN  SQUARE,  the  park  which  was  separated  only  by 
the  width  of  a  thoroughfare  from  the  south  front  of  the 
Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  was  probably  so  designated 
because  it  was  neither  a  garden  nor  a  square.  It  was,  in 


CARD  EX   SQUARE.  67 

fact,  a  pentagon,  the  shortest  side  of  which  abutted  on  the 
street  that  ran  past  the  church  and  extended  a  little  be 
yond  the  western  boundary  of  the  church  property,  where 
the  edifice  dropped  from  its  stately  height  to  the  ivy-grown 
wing  in  which  was  the  suite  of  rooms  known  as  the  pas 
tor's  study.  The  southward-looking  windows  of  these 
rooms  were  of  richly-stained  glass,  with  one  bright  hexa 
gonal  pane  of  bevelled  plate  in  the  middle,  the  diamond- 
like  edges  of  which  flashed  back  the  sunshine  from  their 
polished  surfaces,  until  one  wondered  how  enough  got 
through  to  light  so  well  the  charmingly-arranged  interior. 
The  entrance  to  the  study  was  at  the  southwestern  angle, 
where  a  quaint  ostium  of  unpolished  sandstone  hung  over 
the  steps  that  led  down  to  the  sidewalk,  upon  one  side, 
and  on  the  other,  opened  into  the  porte  cochtre  which 
spanned  the  alley  in  the  rear. 

Though  the  Golden  Lilies  itself  was  a  mountain  of 
white  marble,  the  pastor's  study  was  of  warm,  rich  sand 
stone,  which  not  only  formed  a  pleasant  contrast,  but 
marked  the  semi-private  character  of  its  occupancy.  It 
was  not  a  parsonage.  The  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies 
did  not  degrade  its  pastor  by  putting  him  into  a  cast-iron 
ready-made  home,  and  making  him  a  tenant-at-will  both 
of  its  parlor  and  its  pulpit.  It  paid  him  his  salary  and 
allowed  him  to  choose  such  lodging  as  he  saw  fit.  This 
was  only  his  official  residence. 

The  park  opposite  was  one  of  the  institutions  of  the 
city.  Some  thought  it  a  marvel  of  beauty;  many  regarded 
it  almost  as  an  excrescence.  According  to  the  view  which 
was  taken  of  it,  people  said  a  wise  man's  foresight  or  a 
foolish  man's  whim  kept  it  what  it  was.  It  had  been 
donated  to  the  city  upon  certain  explicit  conditions. 
Among  these  were,  that  it  should  always  be  kept  sur- 


68  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

rounded  with  a  solid,  hand-made  iron  fence  seven  feet 
high,  having  but  three  openings,  one  at  each  end  of  the 
western  side  of  the  pentagon,  and  one  in  the  middle  of 
the  eastern  side  which  stretched  along  the  avenue.  The 
gates  were  to  be  closed  and  locked  at  a  certain  hour  every 
night,  and  not  opened  again  until  a  specified  hour  in  the 
morning.  No  buildings,  poles,  masts,  statues,  arches, 
fountains,  flower-beds,  or  exotic  plants  or  shrubs  of  any 
kind  were  to  be  permitted  within  its  limits,  but  only  native 
plants  and  trees  were  to  grow  there,  and  only  gravelled 
walks  of  the  precise  form  and  dimensions  stated  in  the 
deed  were  to  be  allowed.  It  was  not  to  be  crossed  by 
any  streets,  alleys,  footpaths,  or  highways,  except  those 
designated,  and  was  to  contain  no  structures  except  hand 
made  iron  seats,  each  not  more  than  six  feet  long,  to  be 
placed  only  along  the  sides  of  the  paths.  "  More  or  less," 
as  the  lawyers  say,  these  conditions  had  been  observed, 
chiefly  "  less ;  "  but  still  enough  remained  to  render  Gar 
den  Square  unique  among  city  parks. 

Daniel  Ximenes  Valentine  had  been  one  of  the  richest 
men  of  the  colony  at  the  outbreak  of  the  Revolution, 
when  the  great  city  was  hardly  more  than  one  of  the  chain 
of  villages  that  fringed  the  Atlantic  coast  line.  At  its 
close  he  had  little  left  except  his  homestead  on  the  out 
skirts  of  the  city,  his  scientific  tastes,  and  his  faith  in  the 
new  nation.  The  family  residence  had  been  at  the  south 
end  of  the  park,  while  his  estate  included  some  hundreds 
of  acres  which  the  growing  metropolis  little  by  little  ab 
sorbed.  All  lying  to  the  eastward  of  the  main  street 
which  ran  by  the  lordly  mansion  was  laid  out  in  blocks 
with  convenient  thoroughfares,  and  sold  at  remunerative 
prices  for  residence  purposes  before  the  owner's  death ; 
but  the  park  he  had  stubbornly  refused  either  to  sell  or  to 


GARDE. ,V   SQCARE.  69 

permit  streets  to  intersect.  It  was  of  the  width  and  depth 
of  two  blocks,  saving  only  a  portion  of  the  northwestern 
corner,  which  was  cut  off  by  an  ''Angling  Road  "  which 
in  the  old  time  had  led  to  a  noted  ferry  upon  the  river  a 
mile  away. 

The  owner  being  an  enthusiastic  naturalist  and  an  in 
tense  patriot,  had  set  his  heart  on  immortalizing  himself, 
doing  honor  to  his  country,  and  conferring  a  lasting  bene 
fit  upon  the  city  whose  future  importance  he  fully  realized, 
in  his  own  way,  to  wit:  by  bequeathing  to  it  a  park  to  be 
devoled  exclusively  to  "indigenes  of  the  American  con 
tinent,"  which  he  naturally  supposed  would  be  named  after 
himself.  This  fact  he  did  not  take  occasion  to  proclaim, 
but  proceeded  to  inclose,  beautify,  and  adorn  the  tract  he 
had  chosen  as  the  one  which  should  keep  his  memory 
green  when  the  city  should  number  her  people  by  hun 
dreds  of  thousands.  From  all  parts  of  the  country  he 
gathered  trees  and  shrubs  and  flowering  plants,  which  he 
grouped  with  the  consummate  skill  of  the  landscape  gar 
dener,  to  whose  eyes  the  tree  that  is  to  be  is  visible, 
rather  than  the  sapling  which  he  plants. 

To  the  Americans  of  that  day,  our  native  flora  was  a 
matter  of  little  consequence.  Our  forests  were  yet  too 
common  to  be  esteemed.  Their  wonderful  array  of  native 
trees  and  flowers  and  shrubs  were  regarded  only  as  cum- 
berers  of  the  ground.  Only  those  plants  were  thought 
worthy  of  cultivation  on  account  of  their  beauty  which 
were  brought  from  abroad.  We  imported  our  flowers  then, 
as  well  as  our  fashions.  The  daisy  was  nursed  with  care; 
the  thistle  regarded  as  a  rarity.  Box  was  the  acme  of 
decorative  effect  and  hawthorn  the  only  desirable  hedge- 
plant.  The  patriotic  owner  of  the  yet  undedicated  botan 
ical  park  would  have  none  of  these  things.  Trees  of 


yo  M UK  VALE   EASTMAN. 

peculiar  foliage  or  striking  growths,  plants  of  the  most 
ordinary  and  sometimes  noxious  character,  flowers  that 
were  found  in  every  field,  and  vines  that  clambered  along 
the  hedge-rows — these  he  gathered  with  assiduous  care, 
until,  even  before  the  scattered  communities  had  crystal 
lized  into  a  nation — the  plantation  had  several  thousand 
varieties.  These  things  his  neighbors  regarded  with  con 
tempt,  and  referred  to  their  collector  with  ridicule.  Some 
of  them  complained  that  their  grounds  were  injured  by  the 
seeds  of  noxious  plants  which  the  wind-  drove  from  his 
inclosure  upon  theirs;  and  by  nearly  all  the  denizens  of 
the  city  which  now  boasts  of  his  patriotism,  learning,  and 
sagacity,  he  was  regarded  as  a  selfish,  fussy  "  crank  "- 
whatever  may  have  been  the  eighteenth-century  synonym 
for  that  term — and  "  the  largest  collection  of  American 
plants  and  trees  ever  made "  until  a  century  afterward 
was  unanimously  voted  an  eyesore  and  a  nuisance  to  the 
expanding  city. 

It  happened  that  his  neighbors  on  the  west  were  gar 
deners—pushing,  enterprising  men  who  grew  fruits  and 
flowers  and  vegetables  for  profit  instead  of  sentiment. 
While  he  was  dreaming  of  honor  for  his  country  and  fame 
for  himself,  they  were  scheming  for  present  advantage. 
Beyond  the  Angling  Road  on  the  northwest,  about  mid 
way  of  the  tract  he  designed  for  the  park,  they  established 
a  public  market,  known  to  this  day  as  Garden  Market, 
and  by  legal  process  compelled  the  opening  of  two  streets 
across  this  tract,  one  that  which  now  ran  past  the  church, 
and  the  other,  two  squares  to  the  southward — in  order  to 
facilitate  access  to  the  same. 

This  naturally  irritated  the  owner,  to  whom  the  park 
was  as  the  apple  of  his  eye,  and  who  no  doubt  thought 
his  charitable  intent  ought  to  outweigh  any  present  in- 


CARD  EX  SQl'ARE.  71 

convenience  his  neighbors  might  suffer.  Besides,  he  was 
cut  off  by  the  street  nearest  his  residence  from  that  un 
restricted  freedom  with  which  he  had  been  accustomed  to 
visit  his  favorite  haunts.  He  was  not  a  man  to  be  de 
feated  in  his  purposes,  however.  He  had  already  spent 
a  considerable  sum  in  planting  trees  and  shrubs  in  the 
part  beyond  the  present  limits,  which  lay  between  the 
Angling  Road  and  the  main  street  and  which  was  known 
thereafter  as  the  "  Flat  iron  Tract.1'  The  city  authorities, 
annoyed  no  doubt  by  his  captious  opposition  to  the  much- 
needed  thoroughfares,  in  very  despite,  had  named  one  of 
them  Garden  Street,  and  the  other,  which  passed  by  his 
house,  Blalock  Lane — the  latter  after  his  enemies  and 
the  other  advertising  their  business. 

It  was  then  that  he  set  himself  to  devise  a  plan  which 
should  at  once  circumvent  his  neighbors  and  gratify  his 
own  aspiration.  He  inclosed  the  pentagon  remaining 
with  an  iron  picket-fence,  laid  out  the  paths,  established 
the  gates,  and  then  offered  it  to  the  city  upon  conditions 
named  in  the  deed.  This  deed  included  also  a  valuable 
portion  of  the  river-front,  one-half  the  income  from  which, 
it  was  provided,  should  be  devoted  to  the  care  and  im 
provement  of  the  park ;  the  other  half  to  go  to  the  city, 
after  paying  the  State  and  county  taxes  on  the  Flat-iron 
Tract,  which  was  to  remain  in  common  for  a  hundred 
years,  and  then  pass  to  the  nearest  living  descendant  of 
the  deceased ;  or,  in  default  of  such  kinsman,  to  the  city. 
Both  tracts  were  to  be  forfeited  upon  any  infraction  of 
the  conditions  named  in  the  deed.  The  park  was  to  re 
main  in  the  donor's  control  until  his  death ;  the  moiety 
of  the  income  from  the  river-front  property  was  also 
to  be  expended  under  his  direction.  The  gates  were 
to  be  forever  kept  open  during  such  portions  of  eacli 


72  ML'Rl'ALE   EASTMAN. 

day  as  he  might  designate,  and  a  failure  to  keep  them 
closed  and  secure  during  the  remaining  hours  of  each 
twenty-four,  for  ten  consecutive  days  in  any  year,  was  to 
work  a  forfeiture  of  the  bequest. 

The  gift  was  a  very  liberal  one,  and  the  donor  at  once 
became  as  popular  as  the  previous  conflict  for  a  right  of 
way  across  his  land  had  made  him  unpopular.  Even  his 
enemies,  the  market  gardeners,  could  not  but  admit  that 
it  was  a  very  public-spirited  thing  to  do,  being  very  cer 
tain  that  it  would  inure  to  their  advantage  by  adding  to 
the  value  of  property  in  that  portion  of  the  city,  as  well 
as  by  facilitating  access  to  the  market  in  which  their 
produce  was  sold.  One  of  them,  therefore,  moved  in  the 
City  Council  the  acceptance  of  the  gift  and  a  formal  vote 
of  thanks  to  the  donor.  After  the  business  had  all  been 
completed,  and  the  deed  of  gift  enrolled  on  parchment^ 
executed  in  duplicate  by  both  parties,  as  was  the  custom 
in  those  days,  an  ordinance  was  passed  decreeing  that 
the  plat  of  ground  thus  conveyed  and  accepted  should  be 
forever  known  as  Valentine  Park.  When  all  was  done,  the 
donor  closed  the  gates  and  locked  them  against  all  comers, 
except  when  he  chose  to  open  them  to  the  public.  This 
occasioned  no  little  dissatisfaction,  but  as  the  city  was 
already  deriving  a  handsome  income  from  the  dock  prop 
erty,  the  public  concluded  to  put  up  with  this  invasion  of 
what  it  deemed  its  rights  until  the  donor's  death,  which, 
as  he  was  already  well  advanced  in  years,  could  not  be 
very  far  off. 

When  the  old  man  died  the  city  honored  him  as  he 
well  deserved,  not  only  for  this  but  for  many  other  acts  of 
liberality  and  patriotism.  There  was  a  great  revulsion  of 
sentiment,  however,  when  it  was  learned  that  the  hours 
fixed  in  his  will  for  the  opening  and  closing  of  the  gates 


GARDEN  SQUARE.  73 

of  the  park  were  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning  and  five 
o'clock  in  the  afternoon!  It  was  generally  believed  that 
he  h  id  named  these  hours  especially  to  disoblige  his  an 
cient  enemies,  the  gardeners  Blalock,  by  compelling  their 
customers  to  go  around  instead  of  through  the  double 
square.  The  city  had  extended  quite  unexpectedly,  too, 
in  this  direction,  a  great  man)'  poor  people  having  bought 
homes  upon  the  Angling  Road  and  the  streets  that  inter 
sected  it.  All  these  were  naturally  indignant  at  the  ob 
stacles  thrown  across  their  path  by  the  cranky  and  mali 
cious  dotard,  who  they  believed  had  encumbered  his  gift 
with  useless  conditions  merely  to  spite  them. 

As  a  result,  the  ordinance  dedicating  the  odiously-con 
ditioned  inclosure,  "  Valentine  Park,"  was  rescinded,  and 
the  sovereignty  of  the  people  over  the  newly-received  gift 
emphatically  asserted  by  christening  it  Garden  Square. 
A  way  was  sought,  too,  of  defeating  the  dead  man's  wish, 
and  after  many  and  divers  consultations  with  those  learned 
in  the  law,  it  was  decided  that  the  conditions  of  the  gift 
would  be  sufficiently  complied  with  if  the  gates  of  the 
park  were  opened  and  closed  at  the  hours  named  in  the 
will  one  day  in  each  week,  the  donor  having  made  its 
neglect  for  ten  "  consecutive  days  "'  the  measure  of  non- 
compliance  which  should  work  a  forfeiture.  The  watch 
man  on  this  beat  was,  therefore,  ordered  to  close  the 
gates  "every  Seventh-day  evening  at  five  o'clock,  and 
open  them  the  First-day  morning  at  ten  of  the  clock, 
without  fail."  Thus,  the  malicious  donor  was  circum 
vented,  and  the  citizens  enjoyed  his  liberality  without 
observing  the  onerous  conditions  attached  to  the  bequest. 

The  family  of  the  donor,  as  is  not  infrequently  the  case 
with  public  benefactors,  were  left  in  very  limited  circum 
stances,  and  by  and  by  dropped  out  of  sight.  Four-score, 


74  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

years  afterward,  a  lawyer  employed  to  trace  them  out  re 
ported  that  there  were  no  heirs  in  the  male  line,  and  that 
he  had  been  unable  to  find  any  living  representatives  upon 
the  female  side.  A  daughter  had  given  birth  to  a  daugh 
ter,  who  had  married  somewhere  at  the  West,  after  which 
no  trace  could  be  found  of  her  or  any  descendants. 

The  park  had  been  well  kept  up  because  of  the  fund 
provided  for  that  purpose,  not  after  the  manner  prescribed, 
however,  and  the  gates  had  hardly  been  closed  for  fifty 
years.  After  the  probable  failure  of  lineal  descendants 
was  ascertained,  little  heed  was  paid  to  the  conditions  of 
the  bequest.  Why  should  there  be?  Only  heirs  could 
claim  a  forfeiture,  and  of  them  there  were  none  left. 
The  old  walks  were  paved ;  new  ones  made ;  many  of  the 
indigenous  trees  were  cut  down  and  showy  exotics  sub 
stituted  ;  a  fountain  was  erected  bearing  the  hated  name 
of  Blalock;  a  dozen  telegraph  poles  supported  a  network 
of  wires,  to  make  way  for  which  the  donor's  favorite  trees 
were  defaced  and  beheaded  without  scruple.  Finally,  a 
splendid  group  of  tulip-trees,  which  he  had  planted  with 
his  own  hands  as  a  centre-piece,  were  cut  down  in  order 
to  afford  a  convenient  location  for  an  electric-light  tower. 
Year  by  year  the  income  from  the  dock  property  in 
creased;  year  by  year  the  park  was  "improved"  by  the 
expenditure  of  a  moiety  of  this  fund  upon  it,  and  year  by 
year  the  people  enjoyed  the  dead  man's  generosity  in  their 
own  way.  As  for  the  Flat-iron  Tract,  it  had  long  ago 
been  built  up  with  costly  mansions.  Though  the  city  was 
required  by  the  deed  of  gift  to  pay  "  the  State  and  county 
taxes,"  nothing  was  said  about  municipal  taxation.  When, 
therefore,  the  city  tax  accrued  against  it,  the  tract  was 
sold  and  bought  in  by  the  city,  again  and  again.  Finally 
the  city,  by  advice  of  counsel,  executed  a  quit  claim  to 


GARDEN   SQL' A  RE.  75 

the  premises  for  an  inconsiderable  sum,  to  an  enterprising 
citizen,  who  sold  it  off  in  lots,  giving  warranty  deeds  under 
which  the  present  occupants  held. 

Finally,  it  was  proposed  to  open  a  thoroughfare  through 
the  middle  of  the  park  in  order  to  enable  a  street-railway 
company  to  run  their  cars  directly  to  their  terminus,  in 
stead  of  having  to  make  a  detour  of  a  block  either  way 
in  order  to  pass  the  obstruction.  There  were  scientific 
people  who  protested  from  time  to  time  against  the  so- 
called  "  improvement "  of  the  park  as  something  almost 
sacrilegious,  and  now  and  then  a  musty  lawyer,  who  hinted 
that  the  course  the  city  had  pursued  was  an  outrageous 
breach  of  trust. 

But  the  press  laughed  at  such  "  old  fogies,"  and  pointed 
out  how  necessary  it  was  that  the  changes  should  be  made 
"  both  for  the  credit  of  the  city  and  the  comfort  of  the 
citizens."  The  city  solicitor  was,  therefore,  directed  to 
proceed  with  certain  formalities,  preliminary  to  opening 
the  proposed  avenue,  one  of  which  was  an  advertisement 
for  all  parties  interested  in  adjacent  property,  and  the 
surviving  heirs-at-law  of  certain  parties  having  contingent 
interests  which  might  be  affected  thereby,  to  come  into 
court  and  show  cause  why  the  needed  thoroughfare  should 
not  be  established.  The  city  solicitor's  clerk,  who  was 
intrusted  with  the  preparation  of  these  advertisements, 
included  among  others,  "  the  heirs  of  the  body  of  Nancy 
Valentine  Lott,  daughter  of  Daniel  Ximenes  Valentine, 
decVl,  if  any  such  there  be." 

It  was  this  advertisement  which  had  attracted  the  at 
tention  of  Jonas  Underwood. 


76  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

GOLD  AND  PORPHYRY. 

"  HERE'S  a  good  place,  Hannah." 

Jonas  Underwood  pressed  through  a  hedge  of  arbor- 
vitae  as  he  spoke,  into  an  unused  path  in  Garden  Square, 
and  pointed  with  the  black  cane  he  carried  toward  a  seat 
almost  hidden  under  a  dense  cluster  of  low-branching 
Nyassa,  that  had  grown  up  about  the  stump  of  a  giant 
progenitor,  against  the  bole  of  which  the  back  of  the  iron 
seat  had  once  rested. 

"Looks  as  if  it  had  been  forgot,  doesn't  it?"  he  added 
in  his  wheezy  tones,  as  he  parted  the  branches  so  that  his 
wife  might  walk  under  them  and  then  seated  himself  by 
her  side.  "  Couldn't  have  suited  us  better  if  it  had  been 
made  on  purpose,  could  it,  Hannah?"  he  continued  glee 
fully,  moving  his  feet  about  in  the  heap  of  rustling  leaves 
which  had  lodged  against  the  bench,  and  looking  up  at  the 
painted  foliage  through  which  the  sun  glanced  warmly 
down  upon  them.  "  With  that  hedge  in  front,  the  wood 
bine  clambering  over  the  high  railing,  the  big  cedar  on 
one  side  and  dense  balsam  on  the  other,  we're  almost  as 
much  alone  here  in  the  corner  of  the  park  as  if  we  were 
in  the  heart  of  a  forest.  Here  we've  got  a  peep-hole  on 
the  avenue  and  there  on  the  side  street.  We  haven't  a 
very  good  view  of  the  church,  but  we  can  hear  the  music, 
see  the  people  coming  and  going,  and  get  a  glimpse  of 
the  minister  when  he  slips  into  that  queer  coop  at  the 


GOLD  AND   PORPHYRY.  77 

back  corner  of  the  church.  I  wonder  how  I  came  to  spy 
such  a  cosey  nook.  I  don't  suppose  one  in  a  thousand 
going  along  the  walk  there  would  think  of  finding  such  a 
thing  as  a  bench  in  this  bunch  of  young  gums.  I  guess 
it's  the  force  of  habit — the  habit  of  seeing  things  hid 
under  the  bushes — the  habit  of  boyhood.  One  that  grows 
up  in  the  woods  never  quite  gets  over  the  instincts  of  an 
Indian.  I  never  expected  to  see  a  gum-tree  again,"  he 
added,  crushing  one  of  the  resinous  leaves  in  his  hand 
and  snuffing  at  it  eagerly. 

The  wife  placed  the  basket  she  carried  on  the  seat  be 
tween  them,  glancing  quickly  around  as  if  to  detect  any 
harmful  exposure. 

"  Oh,  you  needn't  be  afraid,  Hannah.  There  isn't  a 
breath  of  wind  can  touch  us  here,  and  when  the  sun  gets 
up  a  little  higher,  it'll  shine  in  on  us  between  the  branches 
up  there  for  a  little  while,  and  then  those  on  the  other 
side  will  shut  it  off  before  it  gets  too  hot.  It's  a  pity 
we're  not  in  front  of  the  church,  where  we  could  see  the 
great  window.  When  the  light  is  just  right  I  think  it's  the 
grandest  thing  I  ever  saw.  It's  just  my  idea  of  'the 
Christ.'  " 

Despite  the  huskiness  of  his  tones,  the  man's  voice  was 
eager  and  his  utterance  rapid.  The  light  in  his  eyes 
showed  the  poet  in  his  nature,  which  a  life  of  unusually 
depressing  character  had  not  been  able  wholly  to  eradi 
cate. 

"I  think  it  is  horrid,"  said  the  wife  with  a  shudder. 
"  I  don't  see  why  any  one  should  want  to  think  about 
the  crucifixion.  I  never  see  a  painting  of  it  without  a 
shiver.  It  seems  to  me  that  the  way  it  is  treated  in  the 
\  Gospels  is  the  best — there  is  so  little  said  about  it,  you 
know." 


7 8  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

"  Perhaps  that  is  the  reason  I  like  this  picture  in  the 
window  of  the  Golden  Lilies,"  answered  the  husband. 
"The  ghastliness  of  the  crucifixion  sickens  me.  To 
extol  it,  or  to  dwell  upon  its  horrors,  seems  to  me  to  be 
emphasizing  the  least  divine  elefment  of  Christ's  charac 
ter.  I  cannot  think  of  him  as  overcome  by  physical  pain, 
wrung  with  mere  agony  of  the  flesh.  Such  a  nature  could 
submit  to  death  because  it  was  the  law  of  the  existence  he 
had  assumed,  but  he  never  grew  weak  with  its  agony, 
never  surrendered  to  its  wofulness.  The  physical  torture 
of  the  cross  was  nothing— to  him.  Such  a  soul  as  his 
would  have  smiled  at  its  pains.  To  him  the  pain  of  cru 
cifixion  must  have  been  trivial  in  comparison  with  that 
dark  hour  in  Gethsemane.  The  cross  is  merely  the  cli 
max  of  fleshly  woe  which  could  not  have  been  anything 
very  terrible  to  such  an  exalted  nature.  His  servants 
have  often  sung  amid  the  flames;  be  sure  he  did  not 
exhibit  any  sign  of  agony  in  the  hqur  of  death.  He  did 
not  drag  and  moan  and  faint  with  physical  suffering.  His 
enemies  did  not  exult  in  the  failure  of  his  fortitude.  He 
did  not  '  hang '  on  the  cross.  The  term  is  misapplied 
when  referring  to  the  Christ.  He  was  lifted  up  on  it,  as 
he  foretold  that  he  would  be.  They  taunted  him ;  bade 
him  release  himself;  but  never  once  pitied  or  despised 
him.  He  was  upright  and  smiling  and  calm  until  the  end 
came.  Then  he  *  bowed  his  head' — bowed  it  forward, 
you  see;  he  had  held  it  upright  until  then — and  said:  '  It 
is  finished ! '  Then  the  dead  body,  indeed,  '  hung '  upon 
the  cross,  relaxed  and  ghastly ;  but  that  was  not  the  Christ 
— not  my  Christ!  He  not  only  conquered  death,  but  had 
already  conquered  pain.  I  could  not  worship  one  whose 
nature  could  be  overcome  by  physical  suffering." 

He  paused  to  cough,  with  a  sort  of  vehemence  which 


GOLD   A  XI)   PORPHYRY.  79 

seemed  to  resent  even  this  concession  to  physical  weak 
ness.  The  wife,  who  had  learned  to  pay  no  attention  to 
his  paroxysms,  thought  how  like  he  was  to  the  Christ  he 
described,  in  his  silent  endurance  of  pain  that  would  have 
broken  the  spirit  of  most  men. 

"  I  suppose  that  is  why  I  like  this  Christ  up  there,"  he 
pointed  over  his  shoulder  with  the  crook  of  his  staff  as  he 
continued.  "  Only  a  part  of  the  cross  is  shown.  The 
artist's  idea  probably  was  to  express  that  patient  pitiful- 
ness  which  seems  to  be  the  artistic  ideal  of  the  Christ — 
as  one  that  endures  pain  indeed,  but  advertises  the  fact 
of  endurance  as  if  he  would  solicit  the  pity  of  mankind. 
Fortunately,  the  proportions  are  heroic ;  the  head  is  erect ; 
the  lilies  almost  hide  the  thorns ;  and  by  some  witchery, 
due  to  the  glass,  I  suppose,  more  than  to  the  drawing,  the 
lines  meant  to  express  suffering  show  only  a  sort  of  soft 
ened,  regal  scorn.  It  is  as  if  he  smiled  down  upon  his 
enemies,  pitying  their  futile  efforts  to  torture  and  degrade, 
but  too  strong  to  care  for  their  taunts,, too  Godlike  to 
vaunt  his  own  strength !  " 

The  bells  had  begun  to  ring  while  he  spoke,  and  the 
tremor  of  their  vibrations  shook  the  sun-lighted  leaves 
above  them.  Crowds  were  hurrying  across  the  park,  along 
the  avenue,  up  and  down  the  intersecting  street,  but  these 
two  were  alone  in  a  temple  "not  made  with  hands,"*talk- 
ing  of  the  Christ,  forgetful  of  their  own  woes  as  he  had 
been  of  earthly  agony. 

"  I  wonder,"  said  the  woman  thoughtfully  as  the  sound 
of  the  bells  died  away,  "what  would  have  been  the  conse 
quence  if  your  idea  of  the  Christ  had  been  the  accepted 
one,  instead  of  the  meek,  pitiful  ideal  you  so — so  dislike?" 

"  Don't  say  '  dislike,'  Hannah,"  exclaimed  the  man  pas 
sionately.  "  I  hate  it!  It  makes  the  Christ  a  weak,  sniv- 


8o  M UP  VALE  EASTMAN. 

elling,  lachrymose  beggar,  instead  of  a  being  stronger  and 
nobler  than  any  man!  ,It  is  the  badge  of  unconscious 
servitude,  the  ideal  of  men  who  suffered  oppression  and 
dared  not  resist.  The  suffering  of  Christ  has  been  mag 
nified  to  induce  men  to  endure  curable  evils— to  accept, 
with  what  we  call  Christian  submission,  what  such  a  Christ 
as  mine  would  count  it  a  shame  not  to  resist.  Did  you 
ever  think  how  little  show  of  weakness  there  was  about 
him?  More  than  half  his  words  are  denunciations  of  evil, 
and  always  of  evil  in  high  places.  I  like  to  think  of  him 
bearding  the  Scribes  and  Pharisees,  and  lashing  the 
money-changers  out  of  the  temple !  He  wept  twice — once 
for  the  weakness  of  his  friends  and  once  for  Jerusalem. 
The  event  was  so  startling  that  the  Evangelist  makes  a 
special  note  of  it.  So  pitiful  was  the  grief  of  the  sisters, 
so  terrible  the  impending  fate  of  the  holy  city,  that  even 
Jesus  wept!  That  is  the  idea— Jesus  the  strong,  the  im 
perturbable,  the  unassailable,  the  being  of  incomparable 
fortitude — even  he  wept!  He  was  '  a  man  of  sorrows  and 
acquainted  with  grief,'  but  he  was  not  given  to  tears. 
What  would  have  been  the  result  if  this  idea  of  the  Christ 
had  prevailed  from  the  beginning?  There  is  one  thing 
that  would  be  different,"  he  pointed  to  the  now  thronged 
sidewalk — "  there  wouldn't  be  three  women  to  one  man 
going  to  church!  " 

"  I  don't  know  but  that  is  so,"  said  the  wife  musingly. 

"There  is  no  question  about  it,"  was  the  positive  reply. 
"  There's  another  thing  that  would  be  changed,  too," 
jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  toward  the  great 
church,  whose  bells  were  again  beginning  to  sound :  "  the 
big  churches  would  be  built  dfozew-town  instead  of  up- 
town,  to  accommodate  weak  souls  and  tired  bodies  and 
slender  purses  instead  of  bank  accounts!  " 


GOLD  AXD  PORPHYRY.  81 

"  But  the  rich  have  souls,  you  must  remember,  Jonas,  as 
well  as  the  poor,"  said  the  wife  chidingly. 

"  Every  rich  man  saved  in  that  way  means  a  score  of 
poor  men  sent  to  hell!"  answered  the  husband  fiercely. 
"What  is  it?  Just  building  a  wall  of  partition  in  God's 
house— nay,  making  God's  house  itself  the  partition. 
Giving  the  rich  the  choice  cuts  and  the  poor  the  crumbs 
and  scraps  from  the  Lord's  table.  It jis  running  away 
from  the  devil  because  God's  saints  are  afraid  of  having 
their  clothes  soiled  or  their  eyes  or  nostrils  offended  by 
proximity  to  the  wicked.  Do  you  remember  the  reason 
that  church  yonder  was  moved  up  here?  It  seems  but 
yesterday  that  I  read  it  in  the  newspapers.  The  region 
where  the  old  one  stood  was  growing  so  sinful  and  wicked, 
they  said,  that  the  congregation  were  greatly  annoyed  in 
going  back  and  forth  from  the  service!  My  Christ,  the 
only  Christ  a  man  ought  to  worship,  would  have  said, 
'  That  is  the  very  place  to  plant  my  church ! '  And  no  one 
was  ever  rich  enough  to  dare  demur  to  such  a  Christ's 
command.  Obedience  or  rebellion  would  be  the  only 
alternatives.  Obey  his  behests  or  leave  his  church!  And 
the  church  would  be  stronger  to-day  if  it  carried  fewer 
ornaments.  The  church  is  for  the  poor,  the  weak.  The 
rich  can  take  care  of  themselves!  They  moved  the 
church  up  here  simply  because  the  Christ  of  the  whip 
cords  has  been  forgotten,  and  a  namby-pamby  creature 
that  dare  not  look  a  rich  man  in  the  face  exalted  in  his 
stead!" 

"  There,  there,  Jonas,"  said  the  wife  soothingly,  "  don't 
get  excited.  It  seems  as  if  you  must  be  right,  but  there 
isn't  much  hope  that,  your  ideal  will  ever  be  accepted." 

"  I  suppose  not — I  suppose  not,''  Underwood  responded 
wearily. 

6 


S2  MUXl'ALE   EASTM-AN. 

His  excitement  had  taken  away  his  strength,  and  he 
was  again  seized  with  one  of  those  fits  of  coughing  which 
racked  his  frame  so  terribly.  In  the  midst  of  this  parox 
ysm  his  face  suddenly  lighted,  and  he  pointed  unsteadily 
toward  the  opening  in  the  clustering  woodbine,  through 
which  the  entrance  to  the  pastor's  study  was  visible.  The 
wife  looked  and  saw  a  young  man  pass  up  the  steps. 
The  husband  seemed  absent-minded  and  subdued  after 
the  fit  of  coughing  was  over. 

"  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  that,  Hannah,"  he  said  at 
length.  His  voice  trembled  and  he  spoke  very  humbly 
now.  "  I  oughtn't  to  have  said  it.  I  don't  take  much 
stock  in  the  human  end  of  Christianity,  dear,  and  no 
doubt  often  shock  you  by  the  way  I  speak  about  it ;  but 
I  don't  often  doubt  its  divine  head  or  its  divine  mission. 
Yes,  Hannah,  I  do  believe  the  time  is  coming  when  my 
ideal  will  be  accepted — in  God's  time,  not  in  mine.  I 
wish  we  could  go  to  church,"  he  added,  wistfully  glancing 
toward  the  Golden  Lilies. 

"What,  there,  Jonas?"  exclaimed  the  wife.  "I'm 
afraid  we'd  not  be  very  welcome!  "  She  looked  down  at 
her  faded  shawl  as  she  spoke. 

"Yes,  we  would,  dear,"  he  answered  eagerly,  "and  it 
might  do  somebody  good— 

His  cough  interrupted  him. 

"Aren't  you  afraid  you'd  disturb  the  congregation?" 
she  asked. 

"  Perhaps  I  should — perhaps  I  should,"  he  said  submis 
sively,  when  he  could  control  his  voice.  His  red  lip 
showed  tremulous  beneath  the  dark  mustache  and  a  tear 
stole  down  his  cheek. 

The  bells  had  ceased,  and  the  notes  of  the  organ  flowed 
forth  like  golden  waves  through  the  sun-lighted  air.  Jonas 


GOLD  AVD    PORPHYKY.  83 

Underwood  closed  his  eyes  and  listened.  His  wife  watched 
him  narrowly.  When  the  opening  services  were  finished 
and  the  sermon  had  evidently  begun,  he  opened  his  eyes 
and  met  her  anxious  look. 

"  I  feel  better  now,"  he  said.     "  That  rested  me." 

"Have  you  found  what  you  came  here  for,  Jonas?" 
asked  the  wife  after  a  long  silence,  desiring  to  divert  his 
attention  from  the  subject  which  seemed  to  excite  him 
too  much  for  his  own  good. 

"No;  I  haven't  found  it,"  he  answered  carelessly. 

"What  did  you  expect?" 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  really  expected  anything.  I  didn't 
know  but  this  might  be  a  park  my  great-grandfather  gave 
to  the  city — at  least  that's  what  I've  heard.  I  don't  know 
what  its  name  was,  nor  where  it  was ;  but  I've  heard  that 
the  conditions  of  the  deed  were  that  it  should  never  have 
any  walks  in  it  only  those  he  laid  out,  and  they  made  the 
initial  letters  of  his  name.  I've  seen  my  mother  mark 
them  out  plenty  of  times.  He  meant  it  for  a  sort  of 
monument,  you  know.  Let  me  see — the  initials  were 
'  D.  X.  V.,'  and  the  paths  made  a  monogram  like  this. " 

The  man  brushed  away  the  leaves  with  the  end  of  his 
cane  and  traced  a  design  in  the  damp,  loose  gravel. 

"And  if  you  had  found  this  was  the  place?  "  asked  the 
wife  with  a  trace  of  eagerness  in  her  tone. 

"  I  should  have  gone  into  court  and  told  them  they 
mustn't  spoil  the  old  man's  monogram,"  he  answered  sim- 
ply. 

"Oh!" 

There  was  a  world  of  disappointment  in  the  wearily- 
uttered  monosyllable.  Her  husband  noticed  it  and  looked 
at  her  keenly  for  some  seconds. 

"So?"  he  said  with  a  low,  meditative  sibilation.     "I 


84  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

never  thought  of  that.  Hannah.     Perhaps  the  matter  may 
be  worth  looking  after." 


CHAPTER   VII. 

TAKING   THE    VERDICT. 

MURVALE  EASTMAN,  in  the  sermon  which  had  startled 
the  congregation  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  had  spoken  less 
from  impulse  than  he  imagined.  He  did  not  covet  the 
role  of  reformer,  did  not  deem  himself  wiser  or  better 
than  others,  and  would  have  stood  aghast  at  the  thought 
of  proposing  any  serious  modification  of  the  Christian 
ideal  or  any  material  change  in  social  forms  and  methods. 

Yet  in  its  own  mysterious  way,  the  Power  which  rules 
all  things  had  long  been  fitting  him  to  pursue  the  very 
line  of  thought  which  he  believed  a  particular  event  had 
awakened.  Like  all  knowledge  worthy  of  the  man,  his 
conviction  of  the  paramount  importance  of  the  subject 
he  had  so  crudely  outlined  to  his  congregation  was  an 
evolution,  an  unconscious  growth,  rather  than  an  intended 
and  conscious  conclusion.  He  had  not  argued  with  him 
self;  he  had  not  studied  theories  except  from  the  mere 
desire  to  know  the  thoughts  of  others,  not  from  any  hope 
of  finding  in  them  a  specific  remedy.  The  statements  of 
conditions  which  he  found  in  the  works  of  social  phi 
losophers  and  professional  reformers  had  interested  him 
greatly.  He  seemed  to  find  in  all  of  them,  religious,  polit 
ical,  and  even  anarchistic  disquisitions  upon  existing  con 
ditions,  some  things  which  his  own  observation  and  ex 
perience  confirmed.  But  when  he  came  to  the  remedies 
proposed,  the  best  seemed  unsatisfactory.  Some  awakened 
his  pity,  very  many  his  contempt,  and  a  few  his  anger. 


TAKING    THE    VEKDICT.  85 

A  man  of  vigorous  qualities  of  body  and  mind,  both 
fate  and  inclination  had  thrown  him  much  in  the  way  of 
other  men,  not  as  a  mere  observer,  but  in  close  compan 
ionship  with  different  classes  in  widely  distant  localities. 
He  had  lived  among  the  crowded  factory  toilers  of  the 
East  long  enough  to  understand  their  thought;  he  had 
come  to  comprehend  the  dual  existence  of  the  miner 
which  touches  the  world's  interests  most  nearly  when  sep 
arated  most  completely  from  it.  The  weird  pathos  of  that 
gnomic  life  had  made  an  impression  upon  him,  which  it 
needed  the  breadth  and  sunshine  of  the  great  West  to 
remove.  Here  again  he  had  met  the  problems  of  a  new 
and  wonderful  civilization  staring  him  in  the  face,  and 
his  mind  had  gone  backward  along  the  path  of  history 
seeking  to  learn  what  message  it  had  to  give  of  analogous 
or  similar  conditions. 

There  are  two  ways  of  studying  history.  The  one  is  to 
find  somebody  who  has  or  professes  to  have  ability  to  un 
ravel  all  its  mysteries,  and  accept  his  guidance,  adopt  his 
theories— so  far  as  they  are  comprehensible — and  become 
a  champion  of  his  hypotheses.  It  is  a  poor  sort  of  knowl 
edge,  but  better  than  none,  and  is  the  kind  that  those 
who  are  called  "  students  of  history  "  usually  possess.  An 
other  way  is  to  master  the  facts  so  far  as  may  be  without 
exhaustive  balancing  of  detail,  and  form,  fill  out,  and  com 
plete  the  picture  of  an  epoch,  feel  its  life  and  discover  its 
significance.  History  is  never  a  trustworthy  guide  to  the 
thinker.  It  is,  at  the  best,  only  a  staff,  and  a  most  unrelia 
ble  one  at  that.  Despite  the  well-known  adage,  it  never 
repeats  itself.  The  butterfly  of  to-day  can  never  again 
be  the  chrysalid  of  yesterday.  Analogies  the  past  may 
furnish,  but  patterns  for  the  future  never.  And  the  anal 
ogies,  to  be  of  value,  must  not  depend  on  similarities  of 


86  MVRrAl.E  EASTMAN. 

soil,  of  climate,  of  food  and  drink ;  nor  yet  on  govern 
mental  forms  or  methods.  Man  is  something  more  than 
an  animal,  and  climatic  conditions  do  not  fix  his  character. 
So,  too,  he  is  something  more  than  farmer,  mechanic,  or 
trader,  and  no  rule  of  progress  can  be  drawn  from  statis 
tics  of  wages  and  profits.  He  is  something  more,  too, 
than  subject  or  citizen,  and  the  form  of  government  which 
in  one  age  means  tyranny  may  in  the  next  offer  the  largest 
liberty. 

The  truths  of  history  which  are  valuable  are  those  per 
taining  to  individual  conditions,  and  these  are  nearly  all 
relative.  What  the  laborer  of  yesterday  earned  is  an  in 
significant  fact  when  compared  with  the  farther  inquiry, 
What  was  the  relation  of  his  income  to  the  general  average 
of  attainable  comfort  of  his  day?  So,  too,  the  question  of 
who  owns  the  land  of  a  country  is  of  less  importance  than 
who  derives  benefit  from  it.  Again,  the  form  of  govern 
ment  is  unimportant  in  comparison  with  the  general  pro 
tection,  prosperity,  and  happiness  which  result  from  it. 
The  lessons  of  the  past,  therefore,  are  those  of  relative 
conditions.  Necessity  and  habitual  reliance  on  his  own 
conclusions  had  led  Murvale  Eastman  to  an  unconscious 
apprehension  of  these  truths.  From  Plato's  day  until  the 
present,  he  had  noted  the  absolute  failure  of  the  most 
brilliant  schemes  of  society  and  government  which  treat 
men  as  a  fixed  quantity,  to  be  governed  always  by  the 
same  motives  and  controlled  by  the  same  influences. 

Naturally  enough,  he  fell  to  comparing  the  Christian 
idea  as  he  understood  it  with  these  proposed  systems  of 
government  and  society,  and  in  so  doing  was  more  and 
more  struck  with  its  wisdom  and  simplicity  in  dealing, 
not  with  methods,  but  with  men ;  not  with  theories,  but 
with  individuals;  not  with  conditions,  but  with  motives. 


TAKING    THE    VERDICT.  87 

Individuals  and  motives — these  are  the  only  static  forces 
in  society.  "  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should  do 
to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them,"  is  a  universally  benefi 
cent  principle,  subject  to  no  variation  because  of  age, 
condition,  race,  or  clime.  Whatever  government,  form 
of  society,  or  economic  condition  promotes  the  practical 
application  of  this  idea  is  good ;  whatever  hinders  it  is 
bad.  This  was  Murvale  Eastman's  philosophy.  It  went 
no  farther.  He  would  care  for  To-day,  and  not  try  to 
put  a  yoke  upon  To-morrow. 

He  was  by  nature  and  training  a  conservative.  He  be 
lieved  that  civilization  was  an  eternal  approximation  to 
the  highest  ideal  in  manhood  and  womanhood.  He  did 
not  think  society  ought  to  be  torn  down  because  it  was 
not  perfect ;  he  did  not  expect  human  nature  to  be  radi 
cally  changed  by  a  political  experiment,  or  believe  that 
evil  would  be  obliterated  by  a  single  spasm  of  virtue.  He 
had  no  specific  for  the  cure  of  wrong,  nor  did  he  antici 
pate  a  millennial  condition  to  follow  the  adoption  of  a  pet 
idea.  He  thought,  as  he  turned  from  his  desk  and  made 
his  way  back  to  his  study,  after  he  had  preached  of  Plu- 
sius  and  Penes,  that  he  had  been  very  moderate  both  in 
language  and  suggestion,  but  he  knew  that  moderation 
was  no  shield  against  animosity.  He  did  not  wish  to 
assail  the  church,  but  to  strengthen  and  uphold  it.  To 
his  mind,  the  church  was  the  mainspring  of  civilization. 
He  did  not  wish  to  remove  it  or  substitute  anything  else 
for  it.  He  only  thought  the  action  of  the  spring  might 
be  rendered  more  effectual  and  its  results  be  made  more 
beneficent. 

He  knew,  however,  that  he  was  liable  to  be  miscon 
ceived,  and  might  be  classed  among  the  "  visionaries  "  and 
"cranks"  who  would  tear  society  down  in  order  to 


88  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

bu'ld  it  up  anew.  He  hoped  by  going  bacfc  to  common 
ground  and  laying  his  course  by  Christian  landmarks,  to 
command  the  sympathy  of  his  people  and  avoid  the  usual 
fate  of  the  theoretical  reformer.  He  had  forgotten  that 
he  who  takes  up  the  sword  of  controversy  must  conquer 
with  it,  or  be  cast  out  and  stoned  for  his  presumption. 
He  was  not  easily  frightened,  however.  He  liked  ap 
proval  and  loved  his  people;  but  he  loved  the  light  better 
than  commendation,  and  humanit)  Lct:er  tuan  any  man's 
opinion 

He  was  not  willing  merely  to  be  right ;  he  wished  to 
benefit  others  by  inducing  them  to  do  right.  It  is  little 
credit  to  know  what  is  the  right  thing  to  be  done;  the 
real  triumph  of  the  thinker  is  to  induce  others  to  act  upon 
his  conclusions.  Very  often  of  late  he  had  thought  of 
Erasmus,  the  great  scholar,  and  Martin  Luther,  the  hum 
ble  priest.  Erasmus  saw  the  church's  error  and  corrup 
tion  just  as  clearly  as  Luther,  but  he  feared  to  imperil  the 
good  it  embodied  by  boldly  attacking  the  evil  it  contained. 
Luther  was  not  afraid  that  the  overthrow  of  evil  would 
imperil  what  was  truly  good.  Now,  Luther  is  accounted 
a  saint  and  a  hero  by  half  the  Christian  \vorld;  Erasmus, 
a  coward  and  a  malingerer  by  the  whole  of  it.  He 
thought  "silence  better  than  schism.''  He  was  wrong; 
such  men  are  always  wrong  when  silence  means  surrender. 
Murvale  Eastman  saw  this,  and  asked  himself  ir- easily 
whether  the  present  was  the  time  for  an  Erasmus  or  a 
Luther.  He  did  not  imagine  himself  able  to  be  a  Luther 
if  there  were  need,  and  he  much  preferred  to  be  an  Eras 
mus.  \|3ut  if  not  a  hero  he  was  no  coward.  If  he  could 
not  induce  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  to  accept  his 
views,  he  would  find  some  other  way  to  do  the  work  as 
signed  him, 


TAKING    THE    VERDICT.  89 

He  would  not  be  a  schismatic — that  he  had  determined. 
That  the  church  was  wrong,  he  did  not  doubt — not  in 
doctrine,  but  in  method ;  but  it  did  not  at  all  follow  that 
he  was  called  to  set  it  right,  or  that  it  could  be  set  right 
in  his  way.  Perhaps  the  thought  he  had  in  mind  was  not 
one  for  the  church  to  carry  into  effect.  He  believed  it 
was,  but  he  might  be  in  error.  At  any  rate,  he  must  give 
himself  to  it.  If  the  church  would  not  follow  him  he 
must  undertake  the  work  alone.  The  thought  was  a  ter 
rible  one  to  a  mind  like  Murvale  Eastman's.  He  loved 
the  church,  had  been  reared  to  venerate  its  doctrines,  and 
had  dedicated  his  life  to  its  service.  He  loved  his  peo 
ple;  knew  their  thoughts;  appreciated  their  excellences; 
excused  their  foibles,  and  keenly  felt  the  honor  they  had 
conferred  upon  him  in  making  him  their  pastor.  To  sever 
that  rehtion  was  to  destroy  all  future  prospects  in  his 
profession.  It  might  even  make  him  poor.  The  relative 
whose  wealth  he  had  expected  from  childhood  to  inherit, 
might  take  the  same  view  of  his  action  as  the  congrega 
tion  of  the  Golden  Lilies.  If  he  succeeded,  he  would 
still  be  the  Reverend  Murvale  Eastman ;  if  he  failed,  he 
would  be — what?  Murvale  Eastman,  workman?  He  did 
not  see  anything  else.  Yet  he  had  decided — not,  indeed, 
until  the  last  moment — but  fully  decided,  before  the  morn 
ing  service  began.  He  came  down  from  the  platform 
when  it  was  over,  to  face  the  verdict.  It  was  rendered 
without  delay. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  congregation  of  the  Church  of 
the  Golden  Lilies,  especially  its  most  active  and  influen 
tial  members,  to  find  their  way  to  the  pastor's  study  after 
the  morning  service.  On  such  occasions  as  the  present, 
after  the  summer  vacation,  there  was  a  sort  of  impromptu 
reception,  including  almost  the  whole  body  of  his  hearers. 


90  MURVALE   EAST  MAX. 

Coming  in  at  the  door  upon  the  right,  they  passed  out 
at  the  one  upon  the  left,  shaking  hands  and  exchanging  a 
word  of  greeting  as  they  passed  by.  The  young  pastor 
took  his  accustomed  place  beside  the  table  and  awaited  the 
usual  ovation.  An  usher  opened  the  door,  while  the 
organ  pealed  its  harmonious  farewell  to  the  dispersing 
multitude. 

A  group  of  children  came  bounding  in,  on  their  way 
to  the  Sabbath-school,  as  soon  as  the  door  was  opened. 
He  was  a  favorite  with  children,  and  the  warmth  of  their 
greeting  moved  him  almost  to  tears.  A  few  of  the  con 
gregation  followed  them — some  timidly,  some  curiously. 
A  couple  of  women  who  had  known  better  days,  and 
found  it  hard  to  hide  the  bitterness  of  poverty,  came  to 
thank  him,  heartily  but  hopelessly.  They  never  expected 
to  be  thought  as  well  of  in  poverty  as  they  had  been  when 
rich.  A  gruff-voiced  stranger  came  to  say  he  admired 
the  minister's  courage,  but  was  afraid  he  had  "  bitten  off 
more  than  he  could  chew."  He  desired  to  leave  his  card, 
and  requested  that  he  might  be  notified  whenever  aid  was 
required.  Two  young  men  and  a  young  woman  with  note 
books  insisted  on  asking  questions,  which  showed  that  if 
they  had  not  comprehended  the  sermon,  they  at  least 
scented  a  sensation.  They  were  reporters  who  wanted 
the  use  of  the  preacher's  manuscript,  as  has  Come  to  be 
the  custom,  in  their  reports.  They  were  in  despair  when 
they  learned  that  the  sermon  was  not  in  manuscript — all 
but  one :  he  had  taken  it  down  in  shorthand  and  foresaw 
a  profitable  "scoop."  A  jolly  friend  who  admired  Mur- 
vale  Eastman  in  the  role  of  yachtsman  quite  as  much  as 
in  that  of  pastor,  greeted  him  with  a  hearty  hand-grip, 
exclaiming: 

"Well,  you  have  shaken  out  your  jags,  haven't  you?" 


TAh'IXG    THE    VERDICT. 


91 


"  What  do  you  think  would  become  of  the  church  if  the 
rich  should  stop  giving  it  money?  "  asked  a  portly  matron 
with  a  scornful  flash  of  her  black  eyes. 

"  What  good  would  it  do  if  we  should  give  up  what  we 
have?"  said  another  sneeringly.  "It  would  just  make 
more  poor,  and  who  would  there  be  to  help  us  if  there 
were  no  rich  churches?'1 

Among  those  who  did  not  come  to  greet  the  pastor  was 
Mr.  Wilton  Kishu.  Never  before  had  he  failed  to  extend 
this^courtesy  to  the  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  when  he 
had  been  present  at  the  morning  service.  Some  of  the 
official  members  came,  but  their  greetings  were  constrained 
and  formal. 

Murvale  Eastman  answered  them  all,  some  pleasantly, 
some  seriously.  When  the  meagre  procession  was  ended 
he  closed  the  door  and  sat  down  to  think.  The  verdict 
had  been  rendered  and  was  unmistakable.  The  Church 
of  the  Golden  Lilies  would  not  follow  their  pastor,  nor 
indorse  the  views  he  had  expressed,  or  intimated  rather. 
Should  he  submit  to  the  verdict  or  take  an  appeal?  follow 
Erasmus  or  Luther?  Whatever  he  might  decide  to  do, 
the  look  upon  his  face  showed  that  he  was  not  likely  to 
forego  his  purpose  because  of  one  rebuff. 

While  he  sat  and  thought,  he  had  been  picking  with  his 
nails  at  the  palm,  first  of  one  hand  and  then  of  the  other, 
as  they  lay  upon  the  table  before  him.  He  smiled  as  he 
became  conscious  of  what  he  was  doing,  and  turned  his 
palms  upward  to  the  light.  Their  wonted  whiteness  was 
marred  by  dark,  hard  callouses. 

"  I  wonder  if  I  have  learned  enough  to  pay  for  the 
smart  they  cost?''  he  asked  himself  with  grim  humor. 
"  I  was  not  compelled  to  labor  with  my  hands.  It  was 
only  a  freak,  a  fancy,  like  a  yacht-trip  to  the  Arctic  Sea. 


9 2  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

The  temporary  discomfort  but  made  the  luxury  of  ease 
and  abundance  more  thoroughly  appreciable.  I  wonder 
how  I  should  feel  if  compelled  to  earn  my  daily  bread  in 
this  manner.  That  is  the  test  of  duty." 

He  spoke  good-naturedly,  but  his  very  quietude  showed 
that  he  would  fight. ,  Any  one  who  had  seen  his  face  settle 
into  grim  repose  as  he  took  out  his  knife  and  continued 
to  pick  at  the  callosities  on  his  palm  would  have  known 
that  he  did  it  unconsciously,  but  that  in  the  mean  time 
his  mind  was  busy  on  a  plan  of  campaign.  Murvale  East 
man  was  going  to  fight,  not  outside  the  church,  but  in  it ; 
the  Gibraltar  in  which  he  would  make  his  stand  was  the 
pulpit  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  from  which  he  had  been  duly 
commissioned  to  expound  the  word  and  declare  the  will 
of  God. 

A  smile  came  to  his  lips  as  he  reached  this  conclusion. 
He  closed  his  knife  with  a  snap,  dropped  it  in  his  pocket, 
and  stepped  to  the  window.  He  seemed  waiting  for  some 
expected  thing  to  happen.  How  beautiful  were  the  maples 
in  their  foliage  of  golden  light  against  the  dark  evergreens 
in  the  park  across  the  street!  The  sun  shone  down 
through  them  with  a  steady,  even  glow  which  was  in  har 
mony  with  his  feeling.  What  was  the  woman  doing  there 
under  the  trees?  She  seemed  to  be  greatly  disturbed — 
gesticulating  frantically  with  her  faded  parasol.  Perhaps 
she  was  in  distress?  The  pastor's  heart  was  very  acces 
sible  to  the  thought  of  need  just  at  that  moment  He 
was  like  a  knight-errant  setting  out  in  search,  not  of  ad 
venture,  but  of  opportunity  to  do  his  devoir  for  the 
weak. 

As  Murvale  Eastman  made  these  observations,  he  had 
been  tearing  into  little  bits  the  sermon  he  had  prepared 
so  carefully  and  now  would  never  deliver.  There  came 


TAKING    THE    VERDICT.  93 

a  tap  at  the  study  door.  His  face  lighted  up  as  he  heard 
it.  He  dropped  the  fragments  of  paper  and  went  quickly 
to  open  the  door. 

"  Come  in,"  he  said  in  a  glad,  tender  tone. 

His  countenance  lost  its  look  of  rapture  as  his  eyes  fell 
upon  his  visitor.  A  woman  dressed  in  mourning,  leading 
by  the  hand  a  child  of  five  or  six  years,  stood  upon  the 
threshold. 

"  Come  in,  madam,  pray  come  in,"  he  said  in  an  altered 
tone,  but  still  cordially,  at  the  same  time  extending  his 
hand.  The  woman  noted  the  change,  but  placed  her 
hand  in  his  and  entered.  They  advanced  toward  the 
table.  The  door  swung  half-shut  behind  them. 

"You  did  not  expect  me?"  she  said. 

"No;  but  I  am  glad  to  see  you." 

"Really?" 

"Truly." 

"Yet  my  coming  may  mean  trouble?"  she  said  with  a 
look  of  significant  inquiry. 

"Very  probably." 

"At  a  time  when  you  will  need  all  your  friends,  too?  " 

"  Trouble  never  comes  at  a  convenient  season,"  said  the 
minister  with  a  quiet  smile. 

The  woman  smiled  back  at  him,  pleasantly  and  famil 
iarly. 

"  Thanks ;  but  I  cannot  understand  why  you  should  be 
glad  to  see  me  just  now?  " 

"  It  is  a  long  story;  if  you  will  permit  me  to  call " 

"  Certainly,  but — would  it  be You  know  my  posi 
tion — and — and  you " 

"  I  am  the  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies," 
said  Murvale  Eastman,  replying  to  her  hesitation,  with  a 
touch  of  pride  in  his  voice.  "  What  a  Christian  gentle- 


94  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

man  may  properly  do,  I  am  not  to  be  forbidden.  If  you 
tell  me  there  is  any  reason — 

"Oh,  no!"  she  said,  interrupting,  with  a  flush  on  her 
cheek,  " of  course  there  is  no  reason*^ 

"  I  would  have  staked  my  life  on  it,"  said  the  pastor 
earnestly. 

"  You  are  very  kind,1'  answered  the  woman  simply,  her 
dark  eyes  lighting  up  with  pleasure.  "  I  only  wished  to 
save  you  from  annoyance." 

"  It  is  you  who  are  kind,"  he  said  with  a  bow.  "  When 
may  I  come?  " 

"Any  day — after  to-morrow." 

"And  where  shall  I  find  you,  Mrs.  Merton?  "  taking  out 
his  note-book. 

The  woman  flushed  as  he  spoke  the  name. 

"After  to-morrow  I  shall  be — there." 

She  opened  her  hymn-book  and  handed  him  a  card. 
He  raised  his  eyebrows  inquiringly. 

"  You  are  going  to — 

"Assert  my  right,"  said  the  woman  firrmy. 

The  child,  who  carried  her  parasol,  had  been  holding 
sometimes  the  woman's  hand  and  sometimes  the  long 
crape  veil  which  hung  over  her  shoulder,  during  this  con 
versation.  Evidently  the  man  and  his  surroundings  had 
little  interest  for  her.  "  Come,"  she  whispered,  pulling  at 
her  mother's  arm. 

"  This  is  my  daughter,  Clara,"  said  the  woman,  as  if  in 
response  at  once  to  the  child's  insistence  and  a  question 
she  read  in  the  pastor's  eyes. 

The  minister  took  the  child's  hand. 

"  She  has  grown  since  I  saw  her,"  he  said.  "  Will  she 
attend  the  Sabbath-school?" 

"  I  wish  she  might,"  said  the  mother  wistfully. 


TAKING    THE    VERDICT. 


95 


"I  will  go  with  you  now  to  Mr.  Hanson,  the  superin 
tendent.  I  am  sure  he — I  mean,  I  shall  be  glad  to  intro 
duce  you." 

"Oh,  no,  not  now — please,"  said  the  lady  almost  pite- 
ously,  drawing  the  child  away  as  she  spoke. 

"Very  well;  any  time,"  said  the  pastor  with  decision. 
"  I'll  call  on  Tuesday,  then,  at  ten  o'clock,  if  the  hour  is 
convenient." 

The  lady  bowed  and  half-turned  to  go. 

"  You  recognized  me  at  once,"  she  said,  halting  and 
looking  backward.  She  was  a  beautiful  woman,  and  the 
position  showed  her  attractions  to  the  best  advantage  to 
one  looking  in  at  the  door. 

"  I  expected  you." 

"  But  not  just  then  ?  "  she  asked  archly. 

"  Perhaps  not,"  he  answered  with  a  smile. 

"  You  were  not  surprised,  however?  " 

"  I  saw  you  in  the  congregation." 

"  You  must  have  good  eyes  and  a  good  memory  to  pick 
out  one  you  have  not  seen  in  so  many  years  among  so 
many!  " 

"  I  was  looking  for  you." 

"  You  knew  I  was  in  the  city,  then?  "„ 

"  I  expected  you  would  be  about  this  time." 

There  was  a  peculiar  significance  in  his  tone. 

"  Then  it  was  you  who  put  the  advertisement  in  the 
Herald  V 

She  turned  back  and  offered  him  her  hand  impulsively. 

"  I  wished  to  prevent  a  crime,"  said  the  minister  gravely, 
"  and  hoped  I  might  do  some  good.  Besides,  I  am  greatly 
your  debtor." 

"  Oh,  that  is  outlawed,"  she  said  lightly. 

"  But  I  have  another  obligation,  if  that  were  waived." 


96  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

"Indeed!     What  is  that?" 

"  I  will  tell  you  when  I  come  to  call." 

"  Well,  I  will  give  orders  that  you  be  admitted,"  she 
said.  "  I  suppose  there  will  be  a — a  great  commotion," 
she  added. 

"  No  doubt.     You  have  my  sympathy." 

(^You  are  a  brave  man." 

The  lady  looked  up  in  the  young  minister's  face  with 
evident  admiration. 

"  Thanks,"  said  he  with  a  quiet  smile.  "  You  ought  to 
be  a  judge  of  the  article.  It  is  not  so  common  a  quality, 
either.  I  was  just  thinking  myself  an  arrant  coward." 

"  You  will  need  all  the  courage  you  have,  I  should  say," 
she  continued,  not  noticing  his  allusion  to  herself. 

"No  doubt." 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you."  The  words  were  heartily 
spoken,  as  one  might  address  a  brother. 

"N'importe"  with  a  shrug.  "  You  will  have  need  for  a 
g®od  deal  of  the  same  thing  yourself,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  a  woman  is  always  braver  than  a  man — in  such 
ways,  I  mean.  Besides,  I  have  Clara,  and  am  willing  to 
suffer  anything  for  her  sake.  You  are  right  and  deserve 
to  succeed,  but  you  will  have  a  hard  fight.  God  help 
you!" 

"  Heaven  help  us  both,"  he  said  reverently. 

They  had  moved  gradually  toward  the  door.  He  held 
it  open,  bowed  low,  and  the  woman  and  child  passed  out. 
As  they  did  so  the  bell  rang  and  there  was  a  loud  knock 
ing  at  the  outer  door  of  the  study.  He  hastened  to  open 
it. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  a  pale  youth  who  stood  on 
the  threshold,  "  there's  a  man  dying  over  there  in  the 
square  who  wants " 


THE   CONSECRATED   CUP. 


The  minister  snatched  up  his  hat  and  followed  the  mes 
senger  without  a  word 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

THE    CONSECRATED    CUP. 

A  FEW  moments  after  the  pastor  left  it,  a  little  proces 
sion  entered  the  door  of  the  study,  bearing  among  them 
the  form  of  Jonas  Underwood.  The  young  minister  had 
impressed  some  of  the  passers-by  into  the  service  of 
humanity  and  brought  the  unconscious  man  to  the  first 
refuge  that  occurred  to  him. 

The  sufferer's  eyes  were  closed,  the  face  pallid  as 
death,  and  a  little  stream  of  blood  was  oozing  from  one 
corner  of  his  mouth.  He  was  breathing  softly  but  weakly, 
and  there  were  drops  of  sweat  upon  his  brow  and  stains 
of  blood  upon  his  face.  By  direction  of  the  minister,  he 
was  placed  on  a  broad,  low  couch,  and  one  of  those  who 
had  assisted  him  hurried  off  for  a  physician.  Mrs.  Un 
derwood,  despite  her  very  natural  alarm,  laid  her  parasol 
and  the  lunch-basket  she  carried  carefully  upon  the  table 
before  giving  her  attention  to  her  husband.  This  done 
she  asked  for  water,  and  began  her  ministrations  with  that 
instinctive  deftness  and  entire  self-forgetfulness  which 
characterize  a  woman  accustomed  to  trying  scenes.  There 
was  no  haste,  no  trepidation,  no  shrinking  from  the  pros 
pect  of  imminent  dissolution,  as  she  knelt  beside  the 
couch  and  bathed  her  husband's  face.  After  a  time  a 
little  flush  came  into  the  pallid  cheek;  then  the  eyes 
opened.  For  a  moment  the  man  seemed  dazed  at  the 
unfamiliar  surroundings.  Then  catching  his  wife's  eye 
7 


98  MURT.  1  /./:    /-. .  I STMA^ '. 

he  smiled,  struggled  with  the  obstruction  in  his  throat, 
and  said  in  a  reassuring  whisper: 

"I've— got— it— up!" 

He  raised  his  right  hand,  in  which  a  blood-stained  hand 
kerchief  was  tightly  clenched,  and  gazed  meaningly  toward 

U: 

"  I  understand,  Jonas,"  said  his  wife  calmly.  "  You 
mean  that  you  have  gotten  rid  of  what  has  hurt  you  so 
long." 

His  face  lighted  up  with  a  smile,  but  when  he  attempted 
to  speak  the  red,  frothy  blood  bubbled  through  his  lips 
and  he  swooned  again.  But  the  heavy-knuckled  right  hand 
still  clutched  the  handkerchief.  The  minister  brought 
towels  and  fresh  water  from  his  private  apartment  and 
offered  what  assistance  he  could. 

"  If  we  only  had  some  restorative,"  sighed  the  wife  when 
the  man  was  once  more  breathing  regularly  but  feebly. 

Murvale  Eastman  put  down  the  bowl  he  was  holding, 
took  a  key  from  his  pocket,  opened  the  door  of  an  adjoin 
ing  roorn,  and  soon  returned  carrying  a  heavy  gold-lined 
silver  goblet  half-full  of  dark,  rich  wine,  the  fragrance  of 
which  filled  the  room.  The  woman  raised  her  eyes  in 
quiringly  to  him  as  he  handed  it  to  her. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered  solemnly,  "  the  blood  shed  for  the 
healing  of  the  nations." 

He  lifted  the  man's  head  very  gently  as  he  spoke,  while 
the  wife  held  the  goblet  to  his  lips.  Then  the  pastor 
folded  his  elegant  fall  overcoat  so  that  its  silken  lining 
was  uppermost,  and  placed  it  under  the  head,  as  if  appre 
hensive  that  the  cylindrical  leathern  pillow  of  the  couch 
might  not  be  comfortable.  After  a  moment  they  gave 
more  of  the  wine,  moving  him  very  gently.  He  breathed 
more  easily,  but  his  eyes  remained  closed.  The  wife  put 


THE   CONSECRATED   CUP. 


99 


the  goblet  on  the  floor  and  began  chafing  his  hands.  She 
tried  to  remove  the  handkerchief,  but  the  muscles  grew 
more  tense  when  she  did  so  and  there  was  an  impatient 
gesture  which  warned  her  to  desist. 

In  a  short  time  the  physician  came,  a  quiet,  alert  man, 
who  greeted  the  pastor  in  that  gentle  undertone  which  is 
habitual  with  the  profession,  and  removing  his  hat  and 
gloves  turned  his  attention  at  once  to  his  patient;  felt  his. 
forehead,  touched  his  wrist,  noted  the  blood-stained  towels, 
glanced  approvingly  at  the  goblet  of  wine,  listened  to  the 
story  of  the  seizure  and  hemorrhage  in  the  park,  and  said 
to  the  minister  in  a  tone  of  earnest  commendation : 

"  Your  promptness  gave  him  a  chance  for  life.  He  is 
fortunate  in  having  been  stricken  in  sight  of  your  win 
dows." 

A  flush  came  to  the  young  pastor's  face  as  he  replied: 

"  I  did  only  my  duty." 

"  But  you  did  it,"  said  the  physician  warmly.  "  That  is 
the  point,  did  it  promptly  and  without  regard  to  possible 
objection  or  questioning  as  to  others'  scruples./  More  of 
your  sort  would  incline  us  who  are  mere  materialists  to 
respect  Christianity  if  we  cannot  believe  its  doctrines.  I 
would  not  touch  that  goblet  now  for  anything,  lest  it 
should  hurt  your  feelings,  but  I  think  you  sanctified  it 
when  you  placed  it  to  this  man's  lips  beyond  what  any 
form  of  word-consecration  could  do.  He  might  possibly 
have  lived  without  it,  but  it  was  exactly  the  gentle  stimu 
lant  he  needed  to  prevent  him  from  sinking  after  the 
hemorrhage,  and  has  greatly  improved  his  chances.  It 
is  a  pity  he  should  have  to  be  removed  immediately." 

"  Why  should  he  be?  "  asked  the  minister. 

The  physician  cast  his  eyes  about  the  room  significantly 
and  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  had  been  holding  his 


TOO  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

patient's  hand  and  watching  his  countenance  narrowly  as 
he  spoke. 

"  How  did  your  husband  come  to  be  in  this  condition, 
madam?"  he  asked,  turning  toward  the  wife  as  if  nothing 
more  need  be  said  about  the  question  of  removal. 

"  He  is  the  man  who  was  pulled  from  his  car  when  the 
strikers  attacked  it  at  the  corner  of  Vane  and  Delaware 
streets  a  few  weeks  ago,"  answered  the  minister  before 
the  woman  could  reply.  "  He  was  dragged  about  the 
streets  and  very  badly  hurt." 

"Yes?"  said  the  physician  with  a  puzzled  frown  upon 
his  brow. 

Mrs.  Underwood  looked  up  at  the  speaker  in  surprise. 
He  turned  his  face  away  as  he  caught  her  eye. 

"  But  this  is  no  new  thing ;  he  must  have  been  ill  be 
fore?"  said  the  doctor. 

"Yes,  sir;  a  long  time,  but  never  quite  so  bad,"  an 
swered  the  wife.  She  had  risen  from  her  knees  when  the 
physician  came  and  was  now  sitting  stiffly  on  the  edge  of 
a  great  arm-chair  the  minister  had  wheeled  beside  the 
couch  for  her,  holding  the  clenched  right  hand  of  her  hus 
band.  She  told  then,  partly  in  her  own  way  and  partly 
in  response  to  the  doctor's  questions,  the  story  of  her  hus 
band's  illness  and  his  curious  delusion  in  regard  to  its 
cause. 

"  He  says  he's  got  it  up,  doctor,"  she  added,  but  in  a 
tone  utterly  lacking  any  sign  of  belief  in  the  statement 
she  repeated. 

The  sick  man's  eyes  opened  and  fixed  themselves  on 
the  physician's;  he  raised  his  right  hand  slowly  and  let  it 
fall  toward  the  medical  man,  the  fingers  relaxing  about 
the  handkerchief  as  he  did  so. 

"What?"    asked  the  physician,  quick  to  interpret  the 


THE    CONSECRATED    C^CP  I'o, 

looks  and  acts  of  those  under  his  care.  "  You  think  it  is 
there?" 

The  man's  face  lighted  up;  and  nodding  his  head 
slightly  but  affirmatively,  he  said  in  a  harsh  whisper: 

"  Know  't  is." 

"Keep  still!  Don't  stir!  Don't  try  to  speak!"  said 
the  physician  with  quiet  imperiousness. 

It  was  too  late.  The  exertion  brought  on  a  paroxysm 
of  coughing,  and  the  red  tide  was  soon  pouring  again  over 
the  man's  lips.  When  its  violence  had  been  checked  and 
another  sip  of  the  wine  administered,  the  physician  said 
after  a  moment's  thought: 

"  Well,  now,  let  us  see  about  this  '  thing '  of  yours." 

He  took  the  handkerchief,  which  was  surrendered  wil 
lingly,  and  with  a  significant  look  toward  the  minister, 
retired  with  him  to  the  lavatory. 

"See  here,  dominie,"  he  said  as  soon  as  they  were 
alone  together,  "  you  have  some  peculiar  interest  in  this 
case>  " 

"Well — perhaps — "  hesitatingly,  " — yes,  I  suppose  I 
have." 

"  That  is  enough.  I  don't  want  to  know  what  it  is,  and 
haven't  time  to  hear  if  I  did.  If  he  could  remain  where 
he  is  a  day  or  two  he  might  get  well;  perhaps  about  as  he 
was  before.  If  he  is  removed  now  he  will  die  before  he 
gets  to  the  hospital." 

"  He  mus1  not  be  removed,  then,"  said  the  minister  em 
phatically. 

"  But  your  services?  " 

"  Nothing  but  the  organ  can  be  heard  here,  and  that 
can  be  dispensed  with  if  necessary." 

"  If  not  too  loud  it  might  soothe  and  quiet  him.  I  will 
ask  his  wife  about  that.  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  He  to 
him." 


102  MURVALE  li.  AST  MAN. 

"Why  so?" 

"  Oh,  don't  be  troubled,''  answered  the  physician  with  a 
smile.  "  We  doctors  have  to  minister  to  minds  diseased 
as  well  as  you,  but  we  are  not  so  restricted  in  our  range 
of  remedies.  We  administer  truth  or  falsehood,  just  as 
we  find  the  patient's  condition  to  require." 

"  This  man  seems  like  one  who  could  bear  the  truth," 
said  the  other  pleasantly. 

"  Bear  it !  He  could  bear  anything.  He  is  one  of  those 
men  who  would  bear  the  rack  without  flinching.  The 
question  is  not  what  he  can  bear,  but  on  what  would  he 
thrive  most  heartily.  Now,  his  idea  that  there  was  a  for 
eign  substance  in  the  lung  is  no  doubt  a  delusion,  but 
one  which  it  might  be  fatal  to  dispel.  He  has  probably 
not  long  to  live,  though,  it  is  possible,  if  hemorrhage  can 
be  prevented,  that  he  may  last  several  months — possibly 
a  year  or  two ;  but  if  he  should  be  convinced  that  there 
was  nothing  in  this  notion  of  his,  he  would  probably  give 
up  all  hope  and  just  die  out  of  hand,  almost  as  if  stabbed 
to  the  heart." 

"  I  see,"  said  the  minister  musingly. 

"  I  thought  I  would  tell  you,"  continued  the  physician 
apologetically.  "  Of  course  I  shall  have  to  look  for  this 
foreign  substance,  which  he  thinks  is  in  the  handkerchief 
here,  and  equally  of  course  I  am  going  to  find  it.  As 
your  countenance  might  betray  you,  I  hope  you  will  not 
remain  where  he  can  see  you  while  I  am  telling  him  about 
it.  He  watches  your  face  like  a  dog,  anyhow.  What 
have  you  been  doing  to  him?  " 

The  physician  had  pushed  up  his  sleeves  and  placed 
the  handkerchief  in  the  basin  while  he  spoke,  and  now 
without  waiting  for  an  answer  he  turned  on  the  hot  water. 
Though  he  did  not  at  all  believe  in  his  patient's  idea,  the 


THE    CONSECRATED   CUP.  103 

habit  of  doing  things  well  made  him-  watchful  and  thor 
ough.  He  separated  the  adhering  parts  of  the  coarse 
linen  with  the  utmost  care.  All  at  once  he  started ;  held 
something  up  to  the  light;  whipped  a  small  lens  out  of 
his  pocket;  opened  it  with  a  touch  of  his  forefinger  and 
examined  his  discovery  with  interest. 

"  I  guess,  dominie,"  he  said  with  his  eyes  still  glued  to 
the  object  he  was  holding  toward  the  light,  "  I  guess  you 
won't  have  to  hide  while  I  am  making  my  report.  If  the 
man  isn't  right  about  the  thing  that  troubled  him,  I  am 
greatly  mistaken.  Just  look  at  that,  will  you?  " 

He  handed  the  other  the  glass  and  extended  toward 
him  the  hand  holding  the  object  of  his  scrutiny. 

"  What  do  you  think  that  is?  " 

"  It  looks  like  a  piece  of  bone,"  answered  the  minister 
thoughtfully. 

"And  is  a  piece  of  lead,  a  long,  narrow  piece,  not  heavy 
enough  to  make  its  way  downward  through  the  lung,  and 
too  jagged  to  become  encysted  in  matter  so  unstable, 
which  his  fall  over  the  bench  in  the  park  probably  loos 
ened  so  that  the  paroxysm  threw  it  up." 

He  held  the  substance  to  the  light  again,  scanning  it 
keenly  through  the  glass,  the  minister  peering  curiously 
over  his  shoulder. 

"  You  see  it  is  lead  plainly  ejiough,"  he  said,  gashing  it 
with  his  thumb-nail,  showing  the  bright  metallic  cleavage. 
"  It's  a  curiously-shaped  piece,  but  there  is  no  knowing 
what  forms  lead  will  not  assume  when  it  is  thrown  with 
force  enough  against  the  human  body.  That,  now,  is  a 
segment  from  the  base  of  a  conical  bullet,  a  sort  of  a  sub- 
contrary  section  too,  I  should  say,  though  I  have  nearly 
forgotten  my  mathematics.  The  man  has  certainly  got 
the  better  of  the  examiners  this  time.  But  it  is  so  com- 


104  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

mon  a  thing  for  our -profession  to  be  wrong  that  we  don't 
mind  it.  That's  where  you  have  the  advantage  of  us," 
he  added  quizzingly  as  he  held  the  bit  of  metal  under  the 
open  faucet  and  looked  smilingly  up  at  the  minister. 
"You  gentlemen  are  never  wrong — can't  be,  you  know — 
and  if  you  were,  you  wouldn't  dare  own  it.  I  declare,  I 
hardly  know  whether  to  envy  or  pity  you." 

"  Perhaps  we  deserve  both,"  said  the  divine  gravely. 

"I'm  not  sure  you  do  not,"  returned  the  physician. 
"  I'd  give  anything  for  the  power  to  believe  as  you  do,  and 
yet  I  am  almost  certain  I  should  pity  myself  if  I  did. 
Now,  you  would  probably  call  this  discovery  '  providen 
tial/  To  me  it  is  only  the  result  of  fixed  laws." 

He  was  scanning  the  bit  of  metal  again  as  he  spoke. 

"  And  may  not  Providence  act  through  fixed  laws  as 
well  as  in  contravention  of  them?  "  asked  the  divine. 

"  Perhaps,"  answered  the  physician  absently.  "  See 
here,  dominie,"  he  continued  after  a  moment,  "won't  you 
just  take  this  glass  and  tell  me  what  you  see  on  the  under 
side  of  that  bit  of  lead?" 

"  It  looks  like  a  letter  C,"  replied  the  other,  after  a 
moment's  scrutiny. 

"And  to  the  right  of  that?  " 

"  It  seems  like  the  upper  curve  of  the  letter  S." 

"And  that's  just  what  it  is,"  exclaimed  the  physician, 
his  eyes  sparkling  with  delight.  "  That  is  a  witness  which 
sustains  the  truth  of  that  man's  story  and  will  compel  the 
amendment  of  the  record  which  has  depressed  and  dragged 
him  down  so  long." 

"  You  think  he  will  recover?  " 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  about  that,  but  if  he  lives  an  hour  it 
will  be  the  happiest  hour  of  his  life.  Dominie,"  he  said, 
turning  and  laying  his  hand  impressively  on  the  other's 


TV/A   CONSECRATED   CUP.  105 

shoulder,  "  if  you  ever  should  be  inclined  to  doubt  what 
you  now  believe,  think  of  this  chain  of  little  insignificant 
events  which  has  saved  a  man's  honor,  which  he  counts 
clearer  than  life,  and  may  save  him  or  his  wife  from  want. 
You  saw  this  man  in  the  park  yonder,  you  witnessed  his 
paroxysm,  you  saw  him  clutching  this  handkerchief,  and 
know  that  he  did  not  lose  hold  of  it  until  he  gave  it 
to  me.  Though  we  did  not  see  this  substance  ejected 
from  his  lung,  your  testimony  and  mine  will  prevent  the 
possibility  of  doubt  on  that  score.  If  he  and  his  wife 
alone  had  witnessed  it  no  one  would  have  believed." 

"Why  not?"  asked  the  other. 

"  Because,  though  there  is  nothing  really  improbable  in 
it,  this  case  is  one  in  which  the  very  completeness  of  the 
proof  it  furnishes  of  the  truth  of  his  statement  makes  it 
seem  almost  incredible.  You  are  too  young  to  know  any 
thing  about  the  war  in  which  this  man  served?  " 

The  minister  nodded  assent. 

"I  was  in  it — all  through  it,  I  may  say.  You  look  sur 
prised.  I  am  almost  surprised  myself  when  I  think  that 
I  was  that  man's  comrade.  A  few  years  of  war  age  the 
mass  of  those  engaged  in  it  wonderfully.  But  I  was  for 
tunate.  Not  only  was  I  young,  but  I  have  one  of  those 
quickly  recuperative  natures  which  repairs  waste  at  the 
first  opportunity.  I  was  only  a  boy,  and  I  ate  and  slept, 
not  troubling  myself  about  what  might  be  my  fate  or  that 
of  the  nation.  There  were  thousands  who  could  not  do 
this ;  who  carried  the  interests  of  civilization  in  a  knap 
sack,  and  were  not  content  to  fight,  but  had  to  pray  and 
fear  for  the  future  as  well  as  for  themselves.  This  man," 
nodding  his  head  toward  the  larger  room,  "  was  probably 
one  of  those.  Though  for  that  matter,  it  is  enough  to 
make  any  man  old  to  carry  that  bit  of  lead  about  in  his 


Io6  ML'Rl'ALE   EASTMAX. 

lung  for  a  quarter  of  a  century.  You  wonder  how  I  know 
he  has  done  so?  It  tells  its  own  story.  You  never  knew 
about  the  bullets  we  used  then.  I  was  much  interested 
in  them.  In  fact,  I  think  I  may  trace  my  professional 
bias  to  my  army  life.  I  made  quite  a  collection  of  these 
deadly  missiles,  which  I  picked  up  on  a  score  of  battle 
fields.  Some  of  them  have  curious  histories.  They  were 
blunt  lead  cones  with  hollow  bases,  and  these  hollow  bases 
used  to  do  remarkable  things.  I  have  one  now  that  struck 
the  red  corps-badge  on  the  cap  of  a  soldier,  passed  through 
his  head,  and  through  the  shoulder  of  the  man  behind 
him,  lodging  in  his  knapsack.  Yet  it  still  holds,  pinched 
in  between  those  basal  edges,  a  bit  of  the  red  worsted  of 
the  corps-badge  on  the  forehead  of  its  first  victim. 

"  This  piece  of  lead  tells  even  a  more  wonderful  story. 
Those  letters  which  you  can  still  distinguish  are  the 
trade-mark  of  a  buried  nation.  At  the  upper  part  of  that 
hollow  cone  were  always  stamped  in  the  enemy's  ammu 
nition  the  letters  C.  S.,  surrounded  by  a  little  raised  ring. 
You  can  distinguish  the  C,  a  part  of  the  S,  and  a  segment 
of  the  ring  which  inclosed  them.  That  is  his  justifica 
tion;  and  if  there  is  no  more  where  this  came  from,  and 
no  pieces  of  bone  in  the  lung,  and  if  the  disease  has  not 
yet  got  too  firm  a  hold,  he  may  recover." 

"God  grant  it!  "  said  the  minister  with  simple  fervor. 


CHAPTER    IX. 
AN  EXPERT'S  OPINION. 

JONAS  UNDERWOOD  showed  neither  exultation  nor  sur 
prise  when  informed  of  the  discovery  the  physician  had 
made.  He  had  already  been  warned  of  the  danger  to  be 


.-M"  EXPERTS    OPIXIOX. 


107 


apprehended  from  excitement  or  exertion,  and  only  his 
eyes  expressed  the  gratification  which  he  felt.  The  few 
moments  which  had  elapsed  since  he  had  choked  while 
eating  his  luncheon  in  the  square  had  made  a  great 
change  in  the  strong-willed,  masterful  man.  Now  that 
he  had  seen  with  his  own  eyes  the  fulfilment  of  his  oft- 
repeated  assertion  in  regard  to  the  cause  of  his  ailment, 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  as  confident  of  recovery  as  he  had 
been  before.  It  is  curious  how  quickly  the  loss  of  a  little 
blood  in  this  manner  demoralizes  the  strongest  nature. 
The  hemorrhage  may  hardly  amount  to  an  ounce,  but  the 
victim  feels  at  once  that  the  fountain  of  life  has  been 
tapped,  and  from  that  instant  confidence  and  self-asser 
tion  vanish.  This  transformation  had  taken  place  in 
Jonas  Underwood.  He  knew  the  danger  of  hemorrhage 
and  gave  all  his  thought  to  avoiding  it.  Even  the  knowl 
edge  of  his  redeemed  honor  as  a  soldier  was  not  enough 
to  divert  his  attention  from  this  purpose. 

To  the  physician  this  state  of  mind  seemed  very  hope 
ful.  He  interpreted  it  as  meaning  that  all  the  force  of  a 
strong  nature  would  be  exerted  to  avoid  a  recurrence  of 
dangerous  symptoms.  The  wife,  however,  regarded  it  as 
the  apathy  which  so  often  precedes  dissolution.  When  it 
was  proposed  that  the  patient  should  remain  in  the  study 
until  better  able  to  be  removed,  it  was  gladly  assented  to 
by  both.  The  wife  had  feared  that  she  might  be  separa*  cd 
from  her  husband  by  his  removal  to  a  hospital,  a  thing 
hardly  less  painful  to.  her  than  the  prospect  of  his  death. 
The  only  question  raised  by  either  was  as  to  the  incon 
venience  of  the  congregation.  Murvale  Eastman  at  once 
put  an  end  to  all  scruples  of  that  sort  by  declaring  that 
the  evening  services  would  be  dispensed  with  if  necessary 
rather  than  interfere  with  the  comfort  of  the  invalid.  The 


io8  MURl'ALE  EASTMAN. 

wife  was  confident  that  the  music  of  the  organ  would  be 
beneficial  rather  than  harmful,  and  the  sick  man  himself 
declared  in  a  whisper  that  he  would  especially  like  to  hear 
the  sermon.  It  was  decided,  therefore,  that  for  a  time  at 
least,  Jonas  Underwood  should  become  the  pastor's  guest, 
and  arrangements  were  soon  completed  which  transformed 
the  study  into  a  temporary  hospital. 

"  How  did  you  come  to  venture  so  far  from  home?" 
asked  the  physician  when  this  was  decided,  as  he  entered 
the  place  of  residence  with  the  ordinary  brief  history  of 
the  case  in  his  note-book. 

There  was  a  half-smile  on  the  patient's  visage,  made 
all  the  more  grim  by  unusual  pallor  as  the  wife  replied: 

"  He  claimed  that  he  had  some  business  here  in  the 
square,  something  about  a  street  that  is  to  run  across  it." 

"Rockridge  Avenue?"  suggested  the  physician. 

"  That  is  it." 

"  What  interest  had  he  in  that?  " 

"  Oh,  he  hadn't  any — just  wanted  to  try  himself  and  see 
how  much  he  could  stand.  He  meant  to  take  his  '  run  ' 
again  to-morrow  if  he  found  he  was  able." 

The  patient  shook  his  head  smilingly. 

"  He  says  that  is  not  so,  Mrs.  Underwood,"  said  the 
physician,  catching  the  silent  remonstrance. 

"  Ah,  that  was  all  a  pretence !  "  answered  the  woman 
with  good-humored  confidence.  "  He  found  an  advertise 
ment  for  a  lot  of  people  to  come  into  court  and  say  why 
a  street  should  not  go  through  the  square,  and  he  said 
one  of  them  was  his  grandmother  and  pretended  that  he 
ought  to  come  and  represent  her." 

"So?"  said  the  physician.  "Who  was  his  grand 
mother?  I  thought  you  were  Western  people." 

"  So  we  are,"  said  the  woman  with  some  warmth.     "  But 


AN  EXPERTS   OP  IN  10  X.  109 

Jonas'  folks  used  to  live  here,  and  one  of  them  —  his 
grandfather  or  great-grandfather — is  said  to  have  made 
the  city  a  present  of  a  park ;  and  he  thought  this  might 
be  the  one.  Of  course  it  was  only  a  notion." 

"Indeed!  and  what  was  the  ancestors  name?  Asa 
physician  and  a  scion  of  one  of  the  old  families,  I  thought 
I  knew  them  all.  I  do  not  remember  your  name  among 
them." 

"  It  was  through  his  mother ;  she  was  a  Lott,  and  her 
mother  was  a  Valentine." 

"A  Valentine!  Not  a  relative  of  old  Ximenes  Valen 
tine?" 

"  That's  the  name.  Jonas  is  the  only  one  of  the  family 
left." 

"  Daniel  Ximenes—  "  began  the  invalid  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"Sh!"  said  the  doctor  warningly.  "You  must  not 
speak  a  word  that  is  not  absolutely  necessary ;  and  I  do 
not  need  any  one  to  tell  me  the  name  of  one  who  did 
the  country  so  much  honor,  and  to  whom  my  own  family 
owed  a  special  grudge.  My  mother  was  a  Blalock,  and  I 
am  very  glad  to  be  able  to  pay  off  a  debt  of  malice  now 
some  generations  old;  but  such  obligations  are  never  out 
lawed.  I  have  you  in  my  power,  sir,"  shaking  his  finger 
at  the  sick  man,  "  and  mean  to  avenge  the  wrongs  of  my 
ancestors  on  the  child  of  their  old  enemy.  Don't  it  make 
you  feel  at  home  to  meet  one  who  has  a  spite  against 
you?  You're  right  in  your  guess  about  the  square;  that 
is  the  very  park  Ximenes  Valentine  gave  to  the  city,  and 
most  shamefully  has  his  generosity  been  requited.  I  will 
admit  that,  even  if  my  own  kin  were  at  the  bottom  of  a 
good  deal  of  it.  By  the  way,  I  wonder — dominie,  do  you 
know  if  Metziger  is  in  the  city?  " 


no  M  (•  'A'  / 'A  LE   KA  STMA N. 

"  Yes,  he  was  at  church  to-day  and  came  in  here  to 
shake  hands  with  me  after  the  services." 

"  He  did!  Well,  you  must  have  done  or  said  something 
very  unusual  for  a  minister  lately,  if  he  did  that.  I  hope 
you've  not  been  getting  into  any  trouble?  I'll  risk  you, 
though,  if  Metziger  is  on  your  side,''  said  the  physician 
jocularly.  "  But  I  must  go  now,  for  I  must  see  Metziger 
at  once.  It's  allowable  to  do  good  on  the  Sabbath  day, 
isn't  it,  dominie?  That's  the  only  time  I  get  to  indulge 
such  inclinations.  Do  not  be  troubled,  madam ;  just  keep 
your  husband  quiet.  1  will  send  everything  you  will  need 
and  a  nurse  to  relieve  you." 

"But  the  expense,  doctor?"  asked  the  woman  doubt 
fully,  mindful  of  her  husband's  sensitiveness  upon  that 
point. 

"  Oh,  never  mind  that!  "  said  both  physician  and  minis 
ter  in  a  breath. 

The  sick  man's  eyes  closed  and  tears  stole  between  the 
lids,  but  he  made  no  objection.  The  wife  tried  to  phrase 
her  thanks,  but  with  poor  success.  The  physician  hur 
riedly  took  his  leave,  and  the  pastor  stepped  out  with  him 
into  the  quaint  vestibule. 

"  See  here,  dominie,"  said  the  physician,  putting  a  hand 
on  the  other's  shoulder,  "my  wife  was  just  telling  me, 
when  your  message  came,  of  the  hornet's  nest  you  stirred 
up  this  morning.  As  near  as  I  could  get  hold  of  it  you're 
on  the  right  track.  I  don't  know  how  the  matter  is  ever 
going  to  be  straightened  out,  but  one  thing  is  sure — mat 
ters  will  never  get  right  if  somebody  doesn't  start  to  set 
them  right.  (I'm  not  much  on  religion,  you  know  that; 
but  I'm  strong  on  humanity.  The  profession  always  has 
been  since  Galen's  time.  And  nobody  sees  the  evils  of 
our  civilization  or  recognizes  them  more  fully  than  we  do. 


A.V  EXPERTS   OP  1 -\~IOX. 


in 


But  we  are  cautious — conservative,  we  call  ourselves.  It's 
a  foolish  term,  for,  given  a  clear  diagnosis,  and  we  are  the 
most  daring  experimenters  in  the  world.  Now,  I've  only 
one  thing  to  say  to  you:  don't  try  to  get  ahead  too  fast. 
That's  the  trouble  with  these  fellows  who  seek  to  cure  the 
ills  of  humanity  with  a  nostrum.  They  forget  that  a  per 
fect  knowledge  of  disease,  at  least  the  most  perfect  possi 
ble,  must  precede  any  use  of  remedial  measures.  And 
very  often  the  knowledge  of  the  cause  is  all  that  is  neces 
sary  to  make  a  cure  not  only  possible,  but  the  easiest  thing 
in  the  world.  For  instance,  I  can't  help  that  man  in 
there  much  beyond  telling  him  what  it  is  necessary  for  him 
to  abstain  from  doing.  That  lacerated  lung  must  have 
time  to  heal,  and  must  be  relieved  of  all  possible  strain  in 
order  that  it  may  heal.  When  I  have  convinced  him  of 
that  I  have  done  the  main  part  of  the  physician's  duty. 
It  is  so,  in  a  great  measure,  I  take  it,  with  collective  social 
evils.  The  first  thing  to  be  done  is  to  study  the  cause  of 
disease.  Poverty  and  crime  and  drunkenness  are  only 
the  external  indices  of  moral  evil.  They  indicate  bad 
blood,  lack  of  nutrition,  disordered  functions  in  the  body 
politic,  just  as  scurvy  and  typhus  show  malign  hygienic 
conditions.  The  least  of  the  physician's  business  is  to . 
cure:  his  greater  function  is  to  show  how  disease  may  be 
warded  off  by  observing  healthful  conditions. 

"  I  think  the  same  thing  is  true  of  the  church,  only  per 
haps  more  so.  It  may  bring  salvation  to  the  dying,  fes 
tering,  diseased  soul  even  at  the  fifty-ninth  minute  of  the 
eleventh  hour  of  life ;  but  every  time  it  does  so  it  con 
demns  itself.  The  church  by  its  slothfulness,  its  unwis 
dom,  its  refusal  to  promote  the  right  and  disapprove  the 
wrong,  has  let  that  soul  slip  down  to  the  edge  of  hell,  and 
publishes  its  own  shame  and  condemnation  when  it  holds 


U2  MURKALE  EASTMAN. 

the  Saviour  up  before  the  sin- bleared  eyes  and  says,  'Be 
lieve  and  ye  shall  be  saved!  '  You  are  on  the  right  track, 
dominie,  in  my  opinion,  but  don't  go  to  concocting  rem 
edies  until  you  are  sure — reasonably  sure — that  they  will 
at  least  not  do  more  harm  than  good.  I  don't  know  as 
I  can  be  of  much  assistance,  but  I  can  assure  you,  you 
may  look  to  the  medical  profession  for  countenance  and 
approval;  and  as  for  me,  if  you  see  any  place  for  me  to 
help  the  matter  on,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to  ring  me  up  on 
the  telephone,  and — say  so." 

He  wrung  the  hand  of  the  pastor,  who  had  no  voice  for 
thanks,  and  started  down  the  steps. 

"  By  the  way,"  he  said,  turning  back  when  half-way  to 
the  sidewalk,  "  I  may  be  mistaken,  but  I  shouldn't  wonder 
if  you  had  gone  into  the  angel  business — unawares,  you 
know — in  that  man  in  there.  There  is  fine  blood  in  that 
old  Valentine  stock,  wonderful  fine,  and  fate  has  a  curious 
way  of  avenging  the  wrongs  of  the  just.  Nobody  sees 
that  oftener  than  a  physician.  If  it  should  happen,  now 
— but  I  must  see  Metziger.  Good  day." 


CHAPTER    X. 

A  CHRYSALID'S  RETROSPECT. 

WHEN  Murvale  Eastman  reached  his  lodging  and  sat 
down  to  his  luncheon,  he  could  hardly  realize  that  scarce 
an  hour  had  passed  since  he  pronounced  the  benediction 
over  the  bowed  heads  of  his  congregation.  Not  so  much 
had  happened  in  the  mean  while,  but  somehow  he  felt  as 
if  he  had  lived  a  long  time  in  that  brief  interval.  This  is 


.-/    CIIKYSALID'S  RETROSPECT.  113 

often  the  case.  The  soul  does  not  measure  time  by  sec 
onds,  nor  yet  by  heart-beats,  but  by  modifications  in  its 
own  quality  and  character.  The  watches  of  the  world 
may  stop ;  the  planets  may  cease  to  measure  the  flight  of 
time;  the  body  may  retain  its  pristine  vigor — but  in  an 
hour,  a  moment  almost,  the  heart  may  grow  old,  the  man 
be  transformed. 

It  is  this  fact  that  the  mere  scientist  is  sure  to  neglect 
in  his  estimate  of  humanity.  He  says  of  a  man,  of  a 
people,  or  a  race,  given  food,  climate,  and  physical  condi 
tions  of  a  specific  character,  and  certain  results  will  follow. 
Presently  the  conditions  are  all  fulfilled,  and  the  results  do 
not  follow.  Why?  Simply  because  the  mightiest  part  of 
the  human  being  was  left  out  of  account  in  the  scientist's 
estimate.  So,  too,  that  pessimistic  philosophy  which  calls 
itself  "  realism  "  in  art  and  literature,  always  is,  and  always 
will  be,  at  fault  when  it  tries  to  solve  the  riddle  of  human 
ity.  It  says  human  nature,  human  character,  is  a  result 
of  the  operation  of  natural  laws.  So  it  is ;  but  those  laws 
are  not  all  physical,  nor  purely  mental.  The  soul  must 
be  taken  into  account  if  one  would  comprehend  humanity 
or  truly  portray  character.  Impulse,  affections,  sentiments, 
convictions,  emotions — these  are  more  potent  than  all 
other  forces  in  shaping  the  man  and,  if  general  in  their 
application,  the  multitude.  Every  man's  knowledge,  al 
most  every  man's  experience,  is  full  of  transformation 
scenes.  It  is  a  literal  fact  that  "  love  works  miracles ;  " 
so  do  hate  and  fear  and  the  continuing  power  of  cumula 
tive  ill.  There  is  in  truth  no  miracle  about  it.  It  is  in 
these  soul-forces,  even  more  than  in  physical  laws  and 
conditions,  that  the  secret  of  progress  and  the  highest 
truth  of  human  life  lie  hid.  In  a  man  or  a  people,  the 

crises  of  sentiment  or  conviction  are  more  important  than 
8 


1 14  MURVALE   EAST  MAX. 

physical  conditions  in  determining  character  or  prescrib 
ing  the  lines  of  truthful  delineation  in  literature  or  art. 

"A  live  dog  is  better  than  a  dead  lion,"  is  an  artistic 
as  well  as  spiritual  truth.  The  artist  who  forgets  the  soul 
may  carve  with  unerring  skill  the  "dead  lion,"  but  he  who 
with  many  faults  of  line  and  curve  portrays  the  "  live  dog," 
will  ever  rank  as  the  greater  artist,  when  the  whimsical 
dictate  of  fashion  is  forgotten. 

Murvale  Eastman  was  conscious  that  some  such  change 
had  been  taking  place  in  himself.  The  man  who  had  first 
entered  the  pulpit  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  only  two  years 
before,  seemed  to  him  strangely  unfamiliar,  almost  a  life 
time  away  in  thought,  sentiment,  character.  He  was  emi 
nently  a  healthy  man,  however,  in  body,  brain,  and  soul. 
There  was  no  more  morbidness  in  his  thought  than  flaccid- 
ness  in  his  muscles.  So  he  ate  his  luncheon  with  hearty 
relish,  wondering  if  he  really  was  the  self-same  man  who 
had  hesitated  to  do  so  commonplace  a  thing  as  to  speak 
his  own  thought,  only  a  few  hours  before.  Was  it  hours 
or  ages?  And  was  he  the  Murvale  Eastman  of  that  re 
mote  past,  or  was  that  only  a  vision,  a  remembrance,  an 
impression  from  some  other  state  of  existence? 

The  bells  of  the  Golden  Lilies  did  not  ring  for  evening 
service  that  night,  but  the  crowds  that  pressed  through  its 
artistic  portal  found  the  pastor  already  in  the  pulpit,  and 
the  organ  sending  out  a  low,  quavering  strain  of  dreamy 
restfulness.  When  the  time  for  opening  had  come,  the 
crowd  was  still  pouring  in  through  the  open  doors,  the 
pews  were  crowded,  and  people  sat  on  chairs  in  the  aisles, 
until  the  great  auditorium  could  hold  no  more.  Some 
even  stood  around  the  walls,  and  there  were  little  groups 
about  the  doors  that  led  into  the  vestibule.  They  were 
an  eager  and  excited  throng,  for  the  story  of  the  morning 


A    CHA'YSAJJD' S  RETROSPECT.  115 

sermon  had  gone  abroad  through  the  city  and  created  a 
sensation.  Many  had  come  merely  from  curiosity,  some 
in  hope,  and  some  to  see  a  man  who  was  foolish  enough 
to  take  the  course  the  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden 
Lilies  was  reported  to  have  adopted.  Much  to  his  own 
surprise  Murvale  Eastman  felt  neither  pride  nor  trepida 
tion.  If  many  came,  it  but  enhanced  his  responsibility; 
and  whether  many  or  few  he  felt  no  longer  any  question 
in  regard  to  his  duty.  The  one  soul  that  would  listen 
almost  breathless  in  the  darkened  study  to  his  words  oc 
cupied  quite  as  much  of  his  thought  as  the  sea  of  faces 
the  electric  lights  lit  up. 

When  the  organ  strain  had  ceased  and  the  opening 
prayer  had  been  made,  he  told  the  congregation  that  the 
services  would  be  brief  because  of  the  accidental  presence, 
in  an  apartment  of  the  church,  of  one  whom  it  was  not 
deemed  wise  to  remove  at  that  time,  and  whose  safety 
might  be  endangered  by  excitement.  The  door  into  the 
study  was  ajar,  and  somehow  every  one  in  the  vast  audi 
ence  seemed  suddenly  to  be  aware  that  a  critical  scene 
in  the  tragedy  of  life  was  being  enacted  in  the  darkened 
room  beyond. 

A  hymn  was  softly  sung  by  the  choir,  and  in  the  won 
dering  hush  that  followed,  the  minister  announced  his 
text  in  the  simple,  unpretentious  manner  which  had  marked 
his  morning  discourse. 

"  ''The  Sabbath  was  made  for  ?nan? 

"Not  merely,"  said  the  speaker,  "for  his  individual  re 
freshment,  not  merely  for  physical  or  spiritual  recreation, 
but  for  the  welfare  and  advantage  of  mankind.  To  that 
it  was  particularly  consecrated,  and  to  that  it  should  be 
especially  devoted." 


Il6  MUKl'ALE   EASTMAN. 


CHAPTER   XI. 

A    NEW    DOCTRINE. 

"  CHRISTIANITY,"  continued  the  minister,  looking  over 
his  congregation  and  for  the  first  time  becoming  aware  of 
that  alert  expectancy  which  greeted  his  words,  so  different 
from  the  contented,  matter-of-course  attention  which  had 
usually  been  accorded  his  pulpit  utterances,  "  Christianity 
is  emphatically  the  religion  of  humanity,  's.  Earth  and  man 
are  its  themes.  Justice  for  the  strong  and  mercy  for  the 
weak — these  were  the  lessons  Christ  inculcated.  He  was 
not  concerned  with  forms  and  ceremonies.  He  established 
no  church ;  he  organized  no  cult :  he  prescribed  no  form 
of  worship.  *  The  Twelve  *  and  '  The  Seventy,'  what  were 
they?  They  named  themselves  and  assumed  rank  after 
ward;  but  the  Master — thank  God,  he  had  not  time  nor 
inclination  for  such  trifles !  To  him  they  were  simply  two 
bands  of  disciples  to  whom  he  had  taught  his  great  les 
sons  of  human  betterment.  Peace,  righteousness,  charity 
— these  were  the  grand  ingredients  of  his  message. 

"Peace:  'Whatsoever  house  ye  shall  enter,  say,  Peace 
be  within  these  walls.' 

"  Righteousness :  '  Whatsoever  ye  would  that  men  should 
do  unto  you,  do  ye  even  so  to  them.' 

"Charity:  '  Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself.'  '  Do  good 
to  those  that  despitefully  use  you.' 

"  These  are  the  cardinal  points  of  Christ's  religion  as 
we  learn  it  from  Christ's  words.  Of  creed  and  prayer 


A    NEW  DOCTRINE.  ny 

there  is  hardly  enough  to  enable  us  to  guess  the  desirabil 
ity  of  profession  and  liturgical  form. 

*'  The  formal  part  of  Christianity  is  of  man.  However 
ancient,  however  worthy  of  regard  the  organization  of  the 
Church  may  be,  it  must  be  admitted  that  the  machinery 
of  Christianity  is  of  human  devising,  or  was  communicated 
through  human  agencies.  It  is  intended  to  promote 
Christianization,  the  conversion  of  sinners,  the  profession 
and  encouragement  of  Christians.  The  Master's  purpose, 
that  to  which  his  thought,  self-sacrifice,  and  devotion  were 
given,  was  the  betterment  of  human  conditions. 

"'Come  unto  me  all  ye  weary' — 'smitten  with  toil'  is 
the  radical  significance  of  the  Greek  word  he  uses — 'and 
I  will  give  you  rest.'  '  My  yoke  is  easy  and  my  burden  is 
light,'  is  his  message  to  those  same  toilers.  What  does 
the  Master  mean  by  these  words  addressed  to  his  disci 
ples?  Evidently  that  the  adoption  of  his  principles,  his 
philosophy  of  human  relations  in  government  and  society, 
would  make  the  condition  of  the  toilers,  of  the  masses, 
more  tolerable.  His  disciples  fully  understood  this  to  be 
the  prime  purpose  and  idea  of  the  Master's  life.  But  how 
it  was  to  be  carried  into  effect  they  did  not  know.  It 
was  the  central  mystery  of  that  revelation  which  has  been 
unfolding  like  a  flower  from  the  hour  he  taught  on  Olivet 
until  the  present.  His  disciples  comprehended  its  pur 
port,  but  not  its  operation.  They  could  not.  The  human 
mind  does  not  ripen  in  an  instant.  The  Master's  words 
required  the  light  of  ages  to  be  cast  upon  them  before 
the  world  could  grasp  their  significance.  He  did  not  em 
barrass  human  weakness  by  prescribing  methods.  He 
did  not  say  how  this  yoke  was  to  be  made  which  should 
make  the  world's  great  burden  light.  That  he  left  to 
them,  to  us,  to  find  out. 


!  j  8  J/r/v'  J  ',\  I  /•;  /•;.•/  .v  TMAX. 

"  The  disciples  showed  their  appreciation  of  this  mes 
sage  by  establishing  a  communistic  association  immedi 
ately  after  his  crucifixion.  Probably  his  personal  followers 
had  practiced  community  of  goods  during  his  life.  How 
long  it  continued  we  do  not  know.  The  believers  of 
Macedonia  and  Achaia  proposed,  Paul  tells  us,  to  make 
a  community  of  goods  with  the  poor  saints  at  Jerusalem.' 
V\*e  have  translated  it  '  a  contribution/  which  originally 
meant  the  same  thing,  to  wit,  an  equal  share  of  a  common 
burden,  but  has  now  come  to  mean  a  mere  voluntary  dole. 

"  In  a  more  or  less  perfect  form  the  communistic  idea 
probably  attached  to  the  Church  in  Rome  in  its  early  days. 
There  is  little  doubt  that  the  Christians  of  the  Catacombs 
were  communists — not,  I  judge,  compulsorily,  but  volun 
tarily.  This  early  Christian  socialism,  indeed,  seems  al 
ways  to  have  been  voluntary.  Freedom  of  thought  and 
action  was  the  first  great  lesson  the  disciples  learned,  and 
they  learned  it  well.  '  They  that  believed,'  we  are  told, 
'  were  of  one  heart.'  '  Neither  said  any  of  them  aught  of 
the  things  which  he  possessed  was  his  own !'  '  They  had  all 
things  in  common.'  '  Neither  was  there  any  among  them 
that  lacked.' 

"  This  is  the  picture  of  Christian  communism  after  the 
Pentecostal  outpouring  of  the  Holy  Spirit.  How  like  an 
echo  it  seems  of  that  earlier  Scripture,  '  The  earth  is  the 
Lord's  and  the  fullness  thereof! '  Even  then,  however,  it 
seems  to  have  been  purely  voluntary.  Those  who  chose 
entered  into  this  community  for  mutual  aid  and  support  ; 
those  who  did  not,  retained  their  individual  possessions. 
The  sin  of  Ananias  and  Sapphira  was  not  in  retaining  the 
value  of  their  lands.  '  While  it  remained,'  said  the  sturdy 
fisher-disciple,  'was  it  not  thine  own?  And  when  thou 
hadst  sold  it,  was  it  not  in  thine  own  power  ? '  They 


A    AVi/r  nOCTK/.YF..  119 

desired  to  share  the  benefits  of  the  community  of  goods, 
without  performing  the  one  condition  that  entitled  them 
to  support  out  of  the  common  fund,  to  wit,  the  surrender 
of  what  they  possessed.  Their  act  was  fraudulent;  that 
was  their  crime. 

"  This  experiment, under  the  direct  control  of  the  Apos 
tles,  was  a  failure.  We  do  not  know  how  long  it  lasted 
nor  why  it  failed;  but  we  have  certainly  a  right  to  infer 
that  if  community  of  goods  and  obliteration  of  individual 
possession,  attempted  under  the  direction  of  the  immedi 
ate  disciples  of  the  Christ,  proved  a  failure  with  the  early 
devotees  of  the  new  religion,  it  at  least  was  not  the  means 
by  which  the  Master  expected  his  benign  purposes  to 
ward  men  to  be  carried  into  effect.  Christianity,  even 
more  notably  than  Judaism,  is  a  religion  of  individualism. 
There  are  but  two  essences  in  it,  Man  and  God — the  Indi 
vidual  and  the  Creator,  the  Finite  and  the  Infinite.  There 
is  no  machinery,  no  substituted  representative  of  the 
Divine  Will.  The  Master  says  nothing  about  obedience 
to  the  Church,  and  gives  no  man  or  set  of  men  the  power 
to  command  another's  obedience  or  relieve  another  soul 
of  doubt  or  responsibility.  Christ's,  words  were  uttered  to 
all  men,  and  must  be  obeyed  by  each  for  himself,  accord 
ing  to  his  own  conviction. 

"  Community  of  goods  implies  not  merely  a  lessening 
of  individual  burdens,  but  a  restriction  of  the  domain  of 
individual  duty.  The  tendency  of  Christianity  is  in  ex 
actly  the  opposite  direction,  toward  the  expansion  of 
individualism  and  the  extension  of  individual  responsibil 
ity.  All  healthful  progress  in  the  Church  and  in  the 
civilization  that  Christianity  has  colored,  has  been  in  that 
direction.  This  was  only  a  first  experiment  by  which 
Christian  believers  sought  to  find  out  a  way  to  carry  into 


120  ML'KVALE   EASTMAN. 

effect  Christ's  teachings  as  to  human  conditions.  They 
sought  for  a  way  by  which  man  might  cast  the  greater 
part  of  his  individual  duty  upon  his  fellows  collectively. 
They  failed  because,  though  they  heard  his  word,  they  did 
not  comprehend  its  import.  They  were  in  error,  just  as 
in  the  common  belief  of  that  time  that  Christ  would  come 
again  while  one  of  the  Apostles  was  still  alive.  Since  that, 
there  have  been  many  experiments  in  the  same  direction. 
They  have  all  failed,  as  such  experiments  will  always  fail, 
because  the  crown  and  glory  of  humanity  is  individualism, 
and  Christ's  religion  is  always  an  appeal  to  the  better 
elements  of  humanity. 

"  After  that,  for  ages  we  find  the  Church  insisting  on 
alms — 'charity,'  we  call  it  when  we  try  to  stretch  the 
blanket  of  our  good  works  so  as  to  make  it  cover  the 
Divine  requirement — provision  for  the  aged  and  poor,  as 
the  sole  measure  and  limit  of  Christian  duty  as  regards 
the  physical  conditions  of  others.  This  is,  in  the  main, 
the  present  position  of  the  Church:  each  man  has  a  right 
to  hold  whatever  earthly  possessions  he  may  lawfully  ac 
quire;  he  has  a  right,  within  certain  limits,  to  bequeath  hi 
accumulations  to  whomsoever  he  may  elect.  The  duty  o 
society  is  to  give  every  man  a  fair  education ;  to  care  for 
the  infirm  and  enfeebled ;  to  punish  and  restrain  crimi 
nals.  As  to  preventing  impoverishment — making  the 
yoke  easy  and  the  burden  light  to  those  stricken  with  toil, 
the  doers,  the  burden-bearers  of  society,  we  acknowledge 
no  duty  of  betterment,  of  sympathy,  of  regard  or  encour 
agement  in  this  direction.  The  rich  man  is  more  wel 
come  in  the  Church  than  the  poor  man,  and  the  rich  Chris 
tian  finds  himself  under  no  obligation  to  see  that  his 
schemes  to  obtain  wealth  do  not  result  in  the  impoverish 
ment  of  others. 


A    NEW  DOCTRINE,  121 

"Attention  has  sometimes  been  given  to  the  idea  of 
equalizing  conditions.  Methods  have  been  proposed  to 
keep  the  poor  from  growing  poorer,  and  to  make  it  easier 
for  some  of  them,  at  least,  to  grow  richer.  The  purpose 
is  no  doubt  akin  to  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  Founder 
of  Christianity,  that  it  is  the  duty  of  the  strong  to  assist 
the  weak — not  to  devour  them.  It  has  assumed  various 
forms  in  the  development  of  civilization,  sometimes 
through  governmental  action,  sometimes  through  volun 
tary  association.  Both  are  merely  approximations  to  the 
Christian  ideal,  that  the  duty  of  the  strong  is  to  help  the 
weak.  'Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens1  did  not  mean 
prayers  and  sympathy  and  tears  alone  ;  not  merely  offering 
food  and  shelter  to  those  whose  burdens  have  already 
crushed  them.  It  meant,  and  it  means  to-day,  that  the 
strong  should  devote  a  part  of  his  strength  to  enabling  his 
weaker  brother  to  carry  his  burden  more  easily,  more  suc 
cessfully,  more  profitably,  if  you  will.  If  Christianization 
were  the  only  aim  of  Christianity;  if  it  stood  on  a  level 
with  Mahometanism,  and  had  for  its  sole  function  the  con 
version  of  mankind  to  its  tenets,  it  would  still  be  the  most 
profound  wisdom  that  should  adopt  this  principle  as  a  rule 
of  action,  since  it  is  the  surest  method  of  securing  the 
acceptance  of  the  religious  system  it  represents,  by  the 
masses  of  mankind. 

"  Society  punishes  crime  and  feeds  the  man  in  absolute 
need  of  bread.  Government  goes  farther  sometimes,  and 
conditions  the  power  of  the  strong  so  that  it  shall  not  op 
press  or  discourage  the  weak.  It  not  only  relieves  want, 
but  seeks  to  prevent  dependency  and  depression.  Bank 
ruptcy  laws,  homestead  exemptions,  laws  against  usury, 
the  limitations  of  corporate  privilege,  the  regulation  of 
traffic — thes'e  and  many  other  laws  are  intended  solely  to 


122  .!/  (.'A'  l\4  L  E    EA  S  TV  A  .A  r. 

prevent  the  rich  from  using  the  power  of  accumulated 
wealth  to  make  the  poor  poorer,  more  dependent,  and 
consequently  less  peaceful  and  contented  citizens.  This 
is  not  done  for  the  benefit  of  the  weak  alone,  but  for  the 
common  welfare  and  advantage. 

".The  social  function  of  Christianity  is  not  merely  to 
relieve  want  or  exercise  'charity,'  but  to  incline  the  hearts 
•  of  men  in  their  individual,  corporate,  and  political  relations 
to  refrain  from  doing  evil,  and  induce  them  to  assist  rather 
than  oppress  the  weak.  It  is  well  to  organize  'charity'  to 
relieve  destitution,  but  it  is  a  thousand  times  better  to 
practice  that  charity— 'kindliness '  is  the  true  rendering 
— '  Love  thy  neighbor  as  thyself ' — which  tends  to  prevent 
destitution.  Thus  far  the  Church  has  neglected  to  a 
great  degree  the  consideration  of  this  phase  of  human 
duty.  We  have  reversed  the  Master's  lesson,  and  given 
more  prominence  to  the  divine  than  to  the  human  element 
of  Christianity.  Christianization  has  been  its  chief  aim; 
the  betterment  of  human  conditions  only  an  incident. 
Yet  the  Master  has  laid  down  one  rule  by  which  alone  the 
value  of  Christian  belief  may  be  measured:  'By  their 
fruits  shall  ye  know  them,'  and  the  'fruits'  of  Christianity 
are  not  merely  the  graces  of  Christian  character,  but  the 
practice  of  Christ's  teachings  in  regard  to  Christian  duty. 

"  '  Religion  is  no  leaf  of  faded  green, 

Or  flower  of  vanished  fragrance  pressed  between 
The  pages  of  a  Bible.' 

"  Profoundly  convinced  of  this,  I  believe  it  is  the  present 
duty  of  the  Church  to  turn  away  for  a  time  from  'the  mint 
and  cummin'  of  religious  theory,  forget  for  awhile  '  the 
selfishness  of  salvation,'  and  consider  what  we  may  do  for 
human  betterment,  to  lessen  human  woe,  to  increase-  the 
sum  of  human  happiness,  and  advance  the  standard  of 


A-  NEW  DOCTRINE.  123 

human  duty:  to  labor,  in  short,  for  human  elevation  on 
earth  both  as  an  end  and  as  the  surest  method  of  effect 
ing  the  eternal  salvation  of  man. 

"  Thus  far  we  have  allowed  the  discussion  of  these 
questions  to  remain  chiefly  in  the  hands  of  those  who  are 
hostile  to  Christian  belief,  sometimes  mere  buccaneers 
who  fly  the  flag  of  human  betterment  in  the  hope  of  ad 
vantage  by  some  great  eruption.  The  Church  has  no 
right  to  allow  its  enemies  to  outstrip  it  in  the  study  of 
the  means  by  which  civilization  may  be  fully  consecrated  to 
the  improvement  of  human  conditions.  No  set  of  ranters, 
whose  only  idea  of  progress  is  the  disruption  of  Society 
and  the  destruction  of  all  that  the  past  has  achieved  with 
such  lavish  expense  of  blood  and  tears,  should  be  allowed 
to  claim  credit  for  being  more  interested  in  the  welfare  of 
society  than  is  the  Church,  which  should  not  set  limits  to 
progress,  but  point  out  new  lines  of  advance.  The  Church 
should  be  the  support  of  Society — not  as  it  z>,  but  as  it 
ought  to  be— the  staunch,  unflinching  champion  of  all 
there  is  of  good,  and  the  unrelenting  enemy  of  all  there 
is  of  evil  in  it.  It  does  not  do  its  duty  by  singing  hymns 
with  half-shut  eyes,  or  dreaming  dreams  of  heavenly  bliss. 
Wide-open  eyes  are  needed — eyes  that  smile  upon  the 
good  in  life  and  seek  out  and  blast  with  the  heat  of  fierce 
disapproval  all  that  is  bad. 

" '  The  Son  of  Man  is  Lord  also  of  the  Sabbath,'  said 
the  Master,  and  this  Sabbath,  this  rest-day,  this  green 
oasis  in  the  arid  desert  of  heated  life,  he  expressly  conse 
crates,  not  to  religious  speculation,  not  to  formal  worship 
or  the  rhapsody  of  religious  emotion,  but  to  Man:  'The 
Sabbath  was  made  for  man.'  Not  merely  for  the  physical 
or  spiritual  enjoyment  of  man,  but  to  his  advantage  and 
benefit.  As  the  Lord  of  the  Sabbath  devoted  his  life  on 


124  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

earth  to  doing  good,  so  he  demands  that  his  followers,  of 
all  classes  and  conditions,  shall  make  the  welfare  of  their 
fellows  the  first  and  highest  object  in  life,  after  their  own 
wants  and  the  comfort  of  those  dependent  upon  them. 
This  is  Christian  Socialism" 

The  pastor  saw  a  flash  of  gratified  expectancy  sweep 
through  the  audience  as  he  uttered  these  words.  A  couple 
of  reporters  who  had  secured  places  at  a  table  just  at  the 
right  of  the  pulpit,  exchanged  glances  as  their  hands  flew 
over  the  pages  of  their  note-books,  and  each  in  his  own 
peculiar  manner  marked  the  pastor's  words  as  an  effective 
head-line  in  their  reports.  An  exultant  "  I-told-you-so  " 
expression  came  into  the  eyes  of  some  who  had  listened 
moodily  to  his  words,  while  a  pained,  apprehensive  look 
passed  over  faces  which  had  been  lighted  up  with  appro 
bation  and  hope.  Both  the  apprehension  of  his  friends 
and  the  exultation  of  his  enemies  was  short-lived.  The 
speaker  continued: 

"  The  Church  has  no  right  to  permit  this  term,  which 
should  mean  the  science  of  practical  amendment  of  social 
conditions,  to  be  appropriated  by  men  whose  only  notions 
of  progress  are  either  impossible  changes  of  human  nature 
or  the  overthrow  of  all  existing  social  conditions.  Chris 
tian  Socialism  should  'hold  fast  all  that  is  good,'  while 
bending  the  energies  of  all  believers  to  the  attainment  of 
that  which  is  better.  It  demands  a  nobler  ideal  of  duty 
toward  humanity  as  well  as  a  higher  standard  of  indi 
vidual  character.  For  eighteen  hundred  years  the  Church 
has  devoted  its  Sabbaths  mainly  to  the  work  of  Christiani- 
zation,  the  inculcation  of  doctrine,  the  assertion  of  theo- 
logic  dogma,  the  contemplation  of  divine  excellence,  and 
the  portrayal  of  Christian  graces.  Profoundly  convinced 
that  the  true  interests  of  the  Church,  the  cause  of  Chris- 


SNAKES  FOR    L'Nll'ARY  FEET.  12$ 

tianity,  and  the  spirit  of  the  Master's  teachings  demand 
that  we  should  follow  his  example  as  well  as  study  his 
precepts,  your  pastor  has  decided  to  devote  the  morning 
service  during  the  ensuing  year  to  the  consideration  of 
Christian  Socialism,  the  study  of  the  relation  of  the  Chris 
tian  believer  to  the  conditions  attaching  to  to-day's  life 
and  affecting  to-morrow's  welfare.  In  this  effort  to  trace 
more  clearly  the  line  of  Christian  duty  he  asks  the  cordial 
co-operation  of  this  church  and  congregation,,  and  on  their 
joint  endeavor  invokes  the  blessing  of  Almighty  God." 


CHAPTER    XII. 

SNARES    FOR    UNWARY    FEET. 

THE  plan  of  action  thus  simply  announced  brought 
consternation  to  the  minds  of  some  who  were  already 
considering  in  what  manner  the  young  minister's  vagaries 
might  be  most  easily  repressed.  The  sermon  of  the 
morning  had  showed  him  halting  and  undecided  as  to  the 
course  he  should  pursue.  In  that  of  the  evening  there 
was  no  trace  of  doubt.  He  had  made  the  announcement 
of  his  purpose  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world  that  he  should  declare  in  advance  the  subject 
of  fifty-two  consecutive  sermons.  And  what  a  subject — 
Christian  Socialism!  The  very  idea  brought  thrills  of 
agonizing  apprehension  to  many  a  pious  soul.  What  did 
it  mean?  Where  would  it  end?  In  the  Church  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  too,  of  all  places  in  the  world!  And  he 
consulted  with  no  one,  asked  nobody's  advice,  but  went 
right  on  as  if  the  wishes  of  the  congregation  were  noth- 


126  MUltl'ALE    EASTMAX. 

ing  to  him.  Of  course,  it  would  attract  the  rabble.  In 
stead  of  being  the  most  aristocratic  church  in  the  city, 
the  Golden  Lilies  would  now  be  filled  with  an  unfashion 
able  multitude  of  beggars  and  "  cranks  '' — people  with 
whom  its  membership  might  be  willing  to  associate  in 
heaven,  but  desired  to  put  off  the  pleasure  of  their  ac 
quaintance  as  long  as  possible. 

This  declaration  made  it  very  difficult  to  take  active 
measures  against  him.  It  was  evident  that  the  multitude 
would  be  on  his  side.  The  size  of  the  congregation 
showed  that ;  but  what  sort  of  a  congregation  was  it  for 
the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies?  More  than  half  of 
them  were  people  nobody  knew  and  whom  nobody  who 
was  "  in  society "  would  speak  to  on  the  street.  Thus 
far  Murvale  Eastman  had  said  nothing  that  could  be  used 
to  his  detriment,  though  some  thought  he  had  several 
times  come  very  near  doing  so.  What  he  would  say  in 
that  year  of  speculation  upon  such  a  topic  it  would  be 
impossible  to  foretell.  Of  course,  they  could  not  proceed 
against  a  man  for  what  he  was  expected  to  say,  and  it 
would  be  useless  to  attempt  to  boycott  him,  for  the  church 
was  sure  to  be  fuller  than  ever  before,  even  if  all  of  its 
members  absented  themselves.  So,  too,  it  would  be 
foolish  to  attempt  to  starve  him  out.  The  laboring  poor 
would  contribute  of  their  poverty  to  make  up  his  salary 
if  he  should  appeal  to  them,  just  to  spite  the  rich  mem 
bers  of  the  church.  They  might  increase  its  membership, 
too.  Of  course,  that  might  be  prevented  by  proper  ac 
tion  of  its  members,  but  suppose  people  came  with  letters 
from  other  churches?  It  looked  as  if  the  Church  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  was  in  danger  of  being  broken  up  and 
its  members  driven  out  of  the  beautiful  home  they  had 
built.  Almost  unwittingly,  Murvale  Eastman  had  played 


SA'AXAS  FOR    UNWARY  FKET.  I2J 

the  strongest  possible  card  in  thus  taking  the  public  into 
his  confidence.  In  answering  the  challenge  of  the  morn 
ing  he  had  silenced  his  enemies  before  they  had  time  to 
open  fire  upon  him. 

These  facts  were  admitted  by  a  few  of  the  leading  men 
of  the  congregation  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  as  they  saun 
tered  homeward  after  the  services  were  over.  They  were 
solid  men,  whose  consciences  hid  behind  charters  which 
enabled  them  to  serve  God  with  pure  hearts  on  the  Sab 
bath,  while  they  also  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  handling 
the  clarified  wages  of  sin  during  the  rest  of  the  week. 
Things  it  would  not  do  for  an  individual  Christian  to  up 
hold,  were  well  enough  in  a  soulless  corporation  made  up 
of  individual  Christians;  because  "business  is  business," 
and  "  corporations  are  organized  not  for  charity,  but  for 
profit."  They  were  shrewd  men,  these  magnates  of  "the 
street,"  and  admitted  that  the  young  divine,  whom  they 
had  never  suspected  of  such  vagaries,  had  not  only  stolen 
a  march  on  them  in  his  morning's  discourse,  but  had  made 
the  best  possible  use  of  his  time  in  the  interval  between 
that  and  the  evening  service.  He  had  taken  the  verdict 
of  his  people,  and  finding  it  unfavorable  to  his  views  had 
instantly  and  confidently  appealed  to  that  larger  congrega 
tion,  the  great  body  of  Christian  believers  throughout  the 
world — from  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  to  the 
Church  of  Christ.  At  the  same  time  the  shrewd  and 
solid  magnates  of  the  church  did  not  question  their  abil 
ity  to  neutralize  his  influence.  They  believed  in  the 
power  of  money.  They  saw  the  daily  miracles  it  performed, 
and  had  no  doubt  that  with  its  aid  they  could  overthrow 
the  young  athlete  who  had  dared  to  match  his  manhood 
and  a  strained  sense  of  duty  against  the  dictates  of  pru 
dence.  Some  of  them  felt  a  little  sorry  for  him,  but  self- 


123  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

preservation  is  the  first  law  of  nature,  and  he  must  take 
what  he  had  brought  on  himself.  The  question  was — and 
it  was  the  only  question — what  was  to  be  done  in  the 
premises? 

They  stopped  at  Mr.  Kishu's  house,  accepting  his  in 
vitation  to  come  in  and  talk  matters  over  for  a  little  while, 
and  sat,  hat  in  hand,  on  the  wide  chairs  of  brown  em 
bossed  leather  in  his  library,  while  they  discussed  the  situ 
ation.  There  was  no  argument  in  regard  to  the  pastor's 
theory,  whether  it  was  right  or  wrong.  It  was  not  the 
sort  of  doctrine  the  Golden  Lilies  wanted,  and  that  was 
enough.  They  paid  the  highest  market  price  for  minis 
terial  service,  and  had  a  right  to  say  what  they  wanted  and 
have  what  they  paid  for.  It  wouldn't  quite  do  to  say  so, 
and  of  course  some  other  reason  must  be  found  for  oust 
ing  him  from  the  pulpit  he  had  filled  so  acceptably  be 
fore  becoming  possessed  of  this  craze.  All  the  same  he 
must  go — that  was  the  unanimous  opinion.  Even  silence 
or  acknowledgment  of  error  would  not  save  him  now ;  he 
had  gone  too  far. 

They  concluded  finally  that  the  best  thing  to  be  done 
was  to  provide  for  a  verbatim  report  of  his  sermons,  and 
have  specially  damnatory  passages  selected  and  submitted 
to  experts  with  a  view  to  catching  him  in  some  theological 
net  of  skepticism  or  error.  As  Mr.  Kishu  had  special 
conveniences  for  that  sort  of  thing,  the  matter  was  left  to 
him  to  carry  into  effect.  He  rubbed  his  soft  hands  to 
gether  unctuously,  and  assured  his  auditors  that  he  would 
set  "one  of  his  young  men  "'  at  the  matter  without  delay; 
adding,  with  a  quiet  smile,  that  probably  the  best  way  to 
settle  the  whole  thing  would  be  for  something  to  happen 
that  would  induce  the  pastor  to  take  a  long  vacation — go 
abroad  for  a  year  or  two,  for  instance. 


ATTACKING    7 '//A'    SUPPLY    TRAIN. 


129 


A  succession  of  winks  and  shrugs  went  around  the  little 
circle  at  this  suggestion. 

"  Beats  us  all,"  said  one  of  the  deacons,  thrusting  a 
thumb  against  the  well-cushioned  ribs  of  another.  "  What's 
the  use  of  an  official  board  in  the  Golden  Lilies?  Let 
Brother  Kishu  alone  to  take  care  of  its  interests! '' 

"The  very  thing  for  a  wedding-trip,"  said  another, 
ducking  his  head  and  explosively  applauding  his  own  per 
spicacity.  The  laugh  was  echoed  suggestively  by  all  the 
others.  It  was  an  open  secret  that  the  pastor  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  was  in  love  with  Lilian  Kishu. 

Mr.  Kishu  smiled  blandly  at  these  compliments  and 
intimations,  but  made  no  reply.  One  of  the  secrets  of 
his  success  was  his  ability  to  leave  unsaid  what  there  was 
no  need  of  saying.  He  bowed  his  guests  out  with  that 
cumbrous  deference  for  which  he  was  noted,  which  took 
the  place  both  of  grace  and  courtesy  with  him. 

The  good  brethren  need  not  have  troubled  themselves 
to  set  snares  for  the  feet  of  their  young  pastor.  Events 
were  hastening  on  which  would  give  both  him  and  them 
enough  to  occupy  their  attention,  and  already  while  they 
were  conspiring  against  him  the  representative  of  a  great 
newspaper  was  endeavoring  to  secure  from  Murvale  East 
man  the  sole  right  of  publishing  the  promised  sermons. 


CHAPTER    XIII. 

ATTACKING    THE    SUPPLY    TRAIN. 

THE  day  succeeding  the  first  Sabbath  of  his  new  year, 

Murvale  Eastman  might  have  counted  himself  famous,  if 

the   newspaper  were    the  accredited  herald    of  fame,  for 

every  morning  journal  in  the  land  had  some  sort  of  notice 

9 


130  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

of  the  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  and  his 
yesterday's  utterances.  Some  of  them  were  fairly  correct, 
some  utterly  absurd ;  some  commended  and  others  sneered. 
Neither  commendation  nor  ridicule  disturbed  the  young 
minister,  who,  having  had  no  thought  of  popularity  in 
what  he  had  done,  was  now  more  inclined  to  laugh  at  the 
tumult  he  had  raised  than  regard  it  as  a  matter  of  serious 
import. 

Although  it  was  his  regular  day  off,  it  was  a  busy  one, 
fortunately  for  him,  as  he  thereby  escaped  the  crowd  of 
reporters  who  were  anxious  to  learn  whatever  might  be 
gleaned  in  regard  to  a  man  who  had  suddenly  become  a 
subject  of  interest  to  the  public.  Whether  it  would  last 
or  not,  Murvale  Eastman  was  "good"  for  a  column  in 
any  paper  of  the  city  and  from  a  quarter  to  a  half  column 
in  the  great  dailies  of  other  cities,  if  one  could  only  get 
something  to  fill  the  space.  Where  he  had  been  gradu 
ated  ;  what  theological  seminary  he  had  attended ;  that 
his  first  work  had  been  as  a  supply  in  a  New  England 
village,  where  he  made  no  serious  impression;  his  second 
in  a  Pennsylvania  mining-town,  where  he  had  some  trouble  ; 
and  his  third,  after  a  year's  interval,  in  one  of  those  queer 
conglomerates,  a  Colorado  settlement  which  had  been  a 
city  while  its  boom  lasted,  and  had  shrunk  almost  be 
neath  the  limit  of  corporate  dignity  when  it  passed  by — 
these  were  facts  easily  obtainable.  There  did  not  seem 
to  be  anything  more  to  be  said  about  him.  He  was  a 
man  of  fair  ability  only,  without  any  apparent  desire  for 
leadership  or  notoriety,  and  by  birth  and  affiliation  about 
the  last  man  who  would  have  been  expected  to  "  make  a 
break." 

This  was  all  that  could  be  learned  by  the  industrious 
reporters.  He  was  said  not  to  be  at  his  lodgings,  and  a 


ATTACKING    Till-:    SUPPLY    TKAJX.  131 

card  hung  on  the  door  of  his  study  at  the  church  gave 
the  information  that  he  would  not  be  there  during  the 
day,  but  that  a  sick  man  lay  within,  whose  life  would  be 
endangered  if  disturbed.  Callers  were,  therefore,  requested 
not  to  ring  the  bell.  Though  many  believed  the  man 
in  the  pastor's  study  was  somehow  at  the  bottom  of  his 
transformation,  none  of  the  reporters  failed  to  comply 
with  this  courteous  request.  Several,  it  is  true,  hung 
about  the  place  for  hours.  The  only  bit  of  information 
they  secured  was  that  the  famous  lawyer,  Mr.  Herman 
Metziger,  called  in  company  with  Dr.  Farwell.  The  lat 
ter,  on  being  questioned  in  regard  to  the  matter,  said  that 
his  patient  was  a  man  by  the  name  of  Underwood,  who 
had  been  seized  with  hemorrhage  in  the  park  the  day  be 
fore,  and  was  taken  into  the  study  to  wait  for  an  ambu 
lance.  He  was  a  poor  man,  but  as  it  was  thought  his  life 
would  be  endangered  by  immediate  removal,  Mr.  East 
man  insisted  on  giving  up  the  study  until  he  could  be 
taken  away  without  peril. 

The  Reverend  Murvale  Eastman,  himself,  had  suddenly 
disappeared.  Mr.  Kishu,  who  had  sent  a  note  to  his  pas 
tor  the  night  before  asking  him  to  call  at  his  office  at  a 
certain  hour,  found  on  his  desk  a  brief  reply,  regretting 
that  an  imperative  engagement  would  render  it  impossi 
ble  for  him  to  do  so. 

To  say  that  the  magnate  of  the  Golden  Line's  was  dis 
turbed  by  this  unexpected  response  to  his  request  is  to 
state  his  feelings  very  mildly.  Few  men  ever  declined 
o::e  of  Mr.  Kishu's  invitations  to  call  at  his  office.  One 
of  the  arts  on  which  his  success  was  based  consisted  in 
always  meeting  friends  and  foes  upon  ground  of  his  own 
choosing.  He  never  consummated  a  trade  or  conducted 
a  negotiation  except  in  his  own  office,  if  it  were  possible 


132  MUKVALK   EASTMAN. 

to  avoid  doing  so.  He  would  pay  the  expenses  of  a  jour 
ney  half  across  the  continent,  rather  than  conclude  an 
important  matter  without  having  the  representative  of 
opposing  interests  face  to  face  with  him  at  his  own  desk. 
Though  he  kept  his  well-appointed  landau  always  at  the 
door  during  business  hours,  it  was  seldom  used  to  convey 
him  to  an  appointment  unless  with  a  committee  or  cor 
poration  which  were  required  to  meet  elsewhere.  He 
sent  his  carriage  for  men  of  prominence,  personal  requests 
to  men  of  less  distinction,  and  had  his  clerk  call  up  on  the 
telephone  those  whom  he  did  not  care  to  flatter  by  such 
attention. 

Mr.  Wilton  Kishu  was  an  adept  in  the  art  of  producing 
indirect  effects.  Recognizing  his  own  lack  of  attractive 
qualities,  lie  determined,  at  the  outset  of  his  career,  to 
make  up  for  personal  defects  as  far  as  possible  by  impres 
sive  surroundings.  His  office,  even  when  his  circumstances 
were  but  moderate,  was  of  a  notable  character.  He  be 
lieved  his  surroundings  to  be  to  a  business  man  very 
much  what  good  clothes  are  to  a  man  of  fashion.  In 
deed,  it  was  said  of  him  by  his  enemies — if  so  good  a 
man  as  Mr.  Kishu  may  be  said  to  have  enemies — that  he 
began  business  upon  "  money  enough  to  furnish  an  office 
and  cheek  enough  to  supply  a  city."  Having  furnished 
the  office,  the  next  thing  was  to  get  desirable  people  to 
enter  it.  To  accomplish  this,  he  set  up  his  carnage,  a 
modest  enough  affair  at  first,  and  managed,  upon  one 
pretext  or  another,  to  induce  the  "solid"  men  of  the  city 
to  allow  themselves  to  be  driven  to  his  office  and  back 
again  for  the  purpose  of  consulting  with  him  upon  some 
matter  that  promised  advantage.  At  first,  he  always 
apologized  for  making  such  a  request.  After  a  little  it 
came  to  be  understood  that  he  adopted  this  course  as 


ATTACKING    THE    SUPPLY    TRAIN. 


133 


much  for  the  convenience  of  those  having  business  with 
him,  as  his  own,  and  it  was  looked  upon  as  a  good-na 
tured  way  of  economizing  the  time  of  both.  By  careful 
study  he  was  able  to  arrange  it  so  that  a  number  of  lead 
ing  men  of  the  city  should  be  seen  to  enter  and  leave  his 
office  every  day,  thus  creating  an  impression  of  his  own 
importance  which,  if  hardly  based  on  actual  facts,  was 
not  the  result  of  actual  misrepresentation.  This  habit 
gradually  shaped  itself  into  a  system,  so  that  for  years 
one  of  the  most  important  features  of  Wilton  Kishu's 
daily  business  was  to  determine  whom  he  would  have  at 
his  office  the  next  day,  and  in  what  order  his  callers  should 
arrive. 

In  a  man  of  less  solid  qualities,  such  things  would  have 
been  only  the  arts  of  an  adventurer.  But  Wilton  Kishu 
was  no  adventurer.  He  was  merely  a  man  of  unprepos 
sessing  personality  without  compensating  intellectual 
culture,  who  took  advantage  of  a  shrewd  knowledge  of 
human  nature  to  make  up  for  these  deficiencies  by  the 
skilful  use  of  externals.  He  was  neither  witty,  nor 
learned,  nor  polished  in  manner,  but  he  knew  men,  and 
played  upon  them  with  a  nicety  and  precision  of  touch 
that  was  altogether  admirable.  By  constant  attention  to 
such  details,  he  had  made  himself  not  only  one  of  the 
richest  men  of  the  city,  but  also  one  of  its  best-known 
characters.  He  knew  how  to  make  himself  talked  about 
without  saying  anything  of  importance  himself;  and,  with 
out  incurring  the  risks  or  expense  of  office-seeking  or 
office-holding,  contrived  to  be  generally  referred  to  as 
one  who  would  confer  an  inestimable  blessing  upon  the 
city  and  the  country  if  he  would  only  consent  to  abandon 
his  business,  forego  his  leisure,  and  show  how  a  municipal 
ity  or  a  commonwealth  could  be  run,  if  a  man  of  supreme 


134 


MURVALE  EASTMAN. 


integrity  and  undoubted  ability  chose  to  devote  himself 
to  the  task.  Nobody  knew  exactly  what  were  his  political 
views,  and  he  had  never  been  heard  to  express  any  pro 
nounced  conviction  upon  public  questions,  yet  he  had 
more  than  once  been  considered  as  a  possible  presiden 
tial  contingency;  and  his  availability  had  been  discussed 
by  the  organs  of  more  than  one  party,  with  a  gravity  that 
hid  from  the  mass  of  readers  all  suspicion  of  the  fact  that 
the  suggestion  proceeded  originally  from  Mr.  Kishu  him 
self. 

He  had  been  accustomed  to  use  the  pastor  of  the  Gold 
en  Lilies  as  a  foil,  and  to  command  his  presence  almost 
as  a  right.  The  good  Dr.  Eudimon  had  been  very  care 
ful  to  honor  these  demands  upon  his  time,  both  because 
the  company  he  met  in  his  parishioner's  office  was  sure 
to  be  agreeable,  and  because  he  deemed  it  wise  to  sub 
serve  the  wishes  of  one  who  did  so  much  for  his  church. 
Murvale  Eastman  had  done  likewise,  hitherto  moved  not 
only  by  sincere  regard  for  his  parishioner,  but  by  the 
more  powerful  magnetism  of  Lilian  Kishu's  beauty.  He 
loved  in  the  same  hearty  fashion  he  did  all  other  things, 
and  never  once  thought  of  making  any  secret  of  his  ad 
miration.  That  Mr.  Kishu  should  be  surprised  at  the 
unexpected  declination  he  received  was  but  natural.  For 
once  in  his  life  he  acted  upon  the  suggestion  of  anger 
rather  than  prudence,  and  entering  his  landau,  drove  to 
the  minister's  lodgings,  determined  to  tell  the  young  man 
what  he  thought  of  the  course  he  was  taking.  He  smiled 
as  he  saw  a  number  of  reporters  waiting  about  the  place, 
evidently  as  incredulous  as  himself  in  regard  to  the  pas 
tor's  absence. 

Ringing  the  door-bell,  he  handed  his  card  to  the  ser 
vant,  and  asked  to  be  shown  to  Mr.  Eastman's  room.  On 


ATTACKING    THE    SUPPLY    TRAIN.  135 

being  assured  that  the  young  man  was  out,  he  smiled 
blandly,  gave  the  girl  a  quarter,  and  asked  to  see  the  land 
lady.  He  was  shown  into  the  parlor,  where  after  a 'few 
moments  the  lady  came  and  greeted  him  with  no  little 
trepidation. 

"You  know  me,  I  suppose,  madam?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  you  are  Mr.  Kishu." 

"  Mr.  Wilton  Kishu,"  he  corrected,  for  he  made  a  point 
of  using  his  full  name. 

"  Mr.  Wilton  Kishu,"  repeated  the  lady  submissively. 

"  It  is  of  the  utmost  importance  that  I  should  see  Mr. 
Eastman  without  delay." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,  sir,"  said  the  woman,  "  but  Mr.  East 
man — really,  I  cannot  understand  what  could  have  induced 
him  to  go  off  so — so  unceremoniously  just  now.  He  must 
have  known  there  would  be  hosts  of  people  to  see  him 
to-day.  Don't  you  think  so,  Mr.  Kishu?" 

"  Really,  madam,  I  cannot  say  what  he  expected,"  an 
swered  Mr.  Kishu.  "  But  as  for  me,  I  must  see  him  at 
once." 

"But  he  is  not  in,"  said  the  lady  in  surprise. 

"Oh,  I  understand  all  that,"  rejoined  Mr.  Kishu  with  a 
knowing  smile.  "You  need  not  admit  anything;  just 
show  me  to  his  room.  I  will  take  all  the  blame." 

"  But,  Mr.  Kishu,"  remonstrated  the  woman,  "  you  are 
mistaken.  I  am  accustomed  to  speak  the  truth.  Mr. 
Eastman  left  the  house  this  morning  very  early,  before 
five  o'clock,  and  has  not  since  returned." 

"  He  left  word  as  to  where  he  was  going?  " 

"  Not  a  syllable,  sir." 

"  Nor  when  he  would  return?"  asked  the  bewildered 
magnate. 

"  You  know  as  much  about  it  as  I,  sir." 


136  J/r/v'/V//,/<;  EASTMAX. 

"  He  must  have  left  some  message — for  me,"  incredu 
lously. 

"  You  can  go  and  see  for  yourself,''  said  the  landlady 
angrily.  "  First  floor,  second  door  to  the  right,"  she  added 
as  she  opened  the  door  into  the  hall. 

Mr.  Kishu  went  doggedly  along  the  passage,  climbed 
the  stairs,  knocked  at  the  door  indicated,  and  receiving 
no  response,  after  a  moment  opened  it  and  went  in. 

It  was  the  room  of  a  man  who  evidently  enjoyed  life. 
A  comfortable  dressing-gown  hung  over  an  easy-chair, 
and  rods  and  guns  were  intermingled  with  books  and  pic 
tures.  The  desk  was  open.  For  a  moment  it  seemed  as 
if  Mr.  Kishu  was  going  to  inspect  its  contents,  but  he 
drew  back  as  if  resisting  temptation,  and  cast  his  small 
gray  eyes  about  the  room  in  search  of  some  indication  of 
the  owner's  whereabouts.  The  apartment  was  apparently 
that  of  a  healthy,  clean-minded  man,  who  took  no  pains 
to  conceal  anything,  received  the  world  open-handedly, 
and  treated  it  in  the  same  way. 

And  this  man  had  neglected  his  summons,  and  proposed 
to  run  the  Golden  Lilies  without  his  advice !  Mr.  Kishu 
was  not  a  resentful  man  and,  to  do  him  credit,  did  not 
have  any  silly  scruples  about  the  notions  Murvale  East 
man  had  propounded.  What  troubled  him  was  the  fact 
that  the  matter  was  attempted  without  his  advice  and 
consent  first  had  and  obtained.  He  liked  the  young  min 
ister  very  well  indeed,  and  had  looked  forward  to  baying 
him  for  a  son-in-law  with  pleasant  anticipation ;  but  Wil 
ton  Kishu  was  always  in  the  foreground  of  his  thought, 
and  he  had  no  use  for  one  who  did  not  esteem  that  worthy 
one  of  the  most  essential  features  of  the  plan  of  creation. 
He  very  naturally  felt  angry  at  what  seemed  a  slight  to 
his  dignity  by  this  young  man  whom  he  had  discovered 


ATTACKING    THE    SUPPLY    TRAIN. 


137 


and,  out  of  sheer  goodwill,  made  the  pastor  of  the  Golden 
Lilies,  and  as  good  as  offered  an  alliance  with  his  family. 

He  was  not  one,  however,  to  do  anything  rashly.  In 
all  his  life  he  had  never  struck  a  fair  blow  nor  received 
one  squarely  which  he  could  possibly  avoid.  He  sat  down 
upon  a  chair  by  the  half-open  door  and  thought  what 
course  it  was  best  to  pursue.  Would  he  better  join  the 
opposition  or  come  over  to  the  side  of  the  young  icon 
oclast?  He  wished,  not  only  to  be  on  the  winning  side, 
but  well  up  in  front  among  the  winners. 

Could  the  young  pastor  win?  That  was  the  question. 
He  went  over  in  his  mind  all  the  forces  that  made  for  and 
against  the  ideas  he  had  vaguely  formulated.  "  Of  course," 
he  said  to  himself,  "  the  rich  will  be  against  the  view  he 
takes,  and  the  masses  can  always  be  bribed  to  use  the 
power  of  numbers  to  their  own  detriment.  It  is  done 
every  day.  Has  not  a  shrewd  politician  declared  to  the 
committee  of  his  party  that  'politics  is  simply  a  question 
of  which  party  has  the  most  money?'  Has  not  another 
defiantly  asserted  that  an  'assessment  of  one-hundredth  of 
one  per  cent,  on  the  property  of  the  millionaires  of  the 
country  would  secure  them  forever  against  legislation 
detrimental  to  their  interests?  ' ' 

Ah,  money  is  a  wonderful  power!  A  pound  of  gold 
will  outweigh  a  thousand  souls  in  the  balance  of  earthly 
esteem,  and  the  man  who  desires  to  win  honor,  exercise 
power,  or  achieve  success — that  man  must  be  on  the  side 
of  the  most  dollars.  Gold  can  throttle  enterprise,  starve 
ambition,  defy  the  strong,  and  crush  the  weak!  Earthly 
weapons  are  vain  against  it.  It  can  spike  the  cannon, 
make  dull  the  sword,  and  quench  the  torch!  It  can  make 
a  man  a  king  or  a  nation  slaves.  But  there  must  be 
enough  of  it,  and  the  slaves  must  be  securely  bound  be- 


138 

fore  their  fears  are  excited.  Had  the  time  come  when  the 
few  rich  could  defy  the  many  poor?  Was  Plusius  strong 
enough  to  prescribe  terms  to  Penes? 

Mr.  Wilton  Kishu  thought  of  the  elements  of  power  in 
their  hands.  He  had  seen  a  good  many  figures  on  the 
subject,  but  somehow  cast  them  all  aside  and  rested  his 
faith  securely  on  one  declaration  of  a  profound  philoso 
pher:  "No  aristocracy  was  ever  overthrown  by  popular 
power,  unless  it  was  too  greedy  or  too  careless  to  buy  the 
support  of  the  majority.  As  long  as  an  aristocracy  of 
wealth  chooses  to  use  its  wealth  to  secure  political  ascen 
dancy,  the  only  enemy  it  need  fear  is  the  concentration 
of  power  in  one  man's  hand.  A  monarchy  may  exist 
without  an  aristocracy;  but  a  king  is  the  only  power  that 
can  overthrow  a  rich  and  determined  aristocracy." 

He  mentally  reviewed  the  growth  of  the  money-power 
in  the  land  within  his  own  memory.  It  was  nothing, 
even  forty  years  ago,  in  comparison  with  the  present.  The 
States  would  hardly  average  a  millionaire  apiece  in  his 
boyhood,  and  now  there  were  hundreds  in  a  single  city — 
perhaps  a  thousand!  Then,  nineteen-twentieths  of  the 
people  lived  on  farms  and  in  the  small  towns.  It  took  a 
hundred  hands-  to  do  the  work  one  pair  accomplished 
now ;  but  there  was  little  idleness,  almost  no  want,  and 
hardly  crime  enough  to  talk  about.  There  were  not  many 
small  farms  in  those  days,  and  not  nearly  so  many  large 
ones  as  now;  but  the  average  was  greater,  and  that  was 
all  that  was  needed  to  satisfy  the  public  conscience.  An 
average  is  a  divine  truth  in  political  economy,  no  matter 
how  great  the  lie  it  represents. 

Mr.  Kishu  actually  chuckled  as  lie  thought  how  Mur- 
vale  Eastman's  argument  would  be  overthrown  by  wise 
men,  armed  with  averages  and  aggregates,  who  were  will- 


ATTACK  I XG    THE    SUPPLY    TKA1X.  139 

ing  to  work  almost  for  nothing  in  order  to  win  the  approval 
of  the  over-rich.  Given  so  many  millions  of  people  and 
so  many  billions  of  dollars,  it  means  so  many  hundreds  for 
every  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  land !  What  cause 
can  there  be  for  complaint  while  we  have  such  averages 
and  aggregates?  So  too  with  acres:  so  many  for  each. 
Yet  now  one-fifth  of  our  population  herd  in  great  cities. 
Averages  and  aggregates  would  settle  the  thing;  and  the 
young  pastor  would  soon  find  himself  deserted  even  by 
his  disciples.  Such,  he  said  to  himself,  has  always  been 
the  outcome  of  attempts  to  restrict  the  power  of  the  few 
and  enlarge  the  opportunity  of  the  many,  and  always 
will  be. 

Mr.  Kishu's  mind  was  made  up.  He  would  be  against 
Murvale  Eastman,  not  openly,  but  none  the  less  effect 
ively. 

"Did  you  find  anything?"  asked  the  landlady,  who, 
surprised  at  his  long  delay,  had  ventured  to  follow  him. 

"  Nothing,  nothing,  madam/'  said  Mr.  Kishu,  suavely. 
"  It  is  very  strange — very  strange.  Don't  you  think,  Mrs. 
Kirkwood,  that  Mr.  Eastman  is  acting — well,  rather  pecu 
liarly,  of  late?" 

"  Indeed  I  do,"  responded  the  landlady  warmly.  "  Here 
he  just  walked  in  on  me  Saturday  night  after  tea,  with 
out  a  moment's  warning,  just  as  if  he  hadn't  been  out  of 
town  for  two  months  and  more.  Of  course,  I  was  ready 
for  him,  but  it  looked  as  if  he  suspected  me  of  letting  his 
rooms  to  other  parties  while  he  was  away.  Then  he  had 
to  send  for  me  and  ask,  right  before  the  servant,  if  I 
wouldn't  have  the  hair-pins  picked  up  in  the  room,  as  he 
had  no  use  for  them,  and  he  didn't  think  they  were  ex 
actly  appropriate  in  a  bachelor's  apartment  !  I  thought 
it  was  real — real  inconsiderate,"  concluded  the  lady,  ex- 


140  Ml'RrALE   EASTMAX. 

citedly  smoothing  out  a  plait  in  the  front  of  her  dress  as 
she  spoke. 

"  But  I  understood  he  had  been  in  the  city  for  some 
time,"  said  Mr.  Kishu. 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,  where  he's  been.  I  never  saw 
him  until  Saturday." 

"And  the  rooms  were  quite  unoccupied  in  his  ab 
sence?" 

"  Why,  certainly,  Mr.  Kishu,"  smiling  blandly.  "  Of 
course,  I  can't  say  the  girls  may  not  have  gone  in  there 
occasionally,  but  as  for  occupying  them — to  say  '  occupy  ' 
— that's  all  nonsense.  Then,  here  this  .morning,"  she 
continued,  "  rushing  off  before  it  was  light  and  leaving  no 
word  as  to  where  he  has  gone  or  when  he  is  coming  back! 
I  should  say  he  is  acting  strangely!  It  seems  as  if  every 
body  in  the  city  wanted  to  see  him,  and  everybody  out 
side  of  it  wanted  to  hear  from  him.  Why,  there's  been 
no  end  of  telegraph  messages!  Just  look  at  that,"  she 
said,  pointing  to  a  pile  of  brown  envelopes  on  the  desk, 
"  twenty-seven  since  breakfast !  And  that's  another,  I 
suppose,"  she  added  as  the  door-bell  sounded  again. 

Somehow  this  confirmation  of  the  pastor's  absence  had 
a  peculiar  effect  on  Mr.  Kishu.  He  could  not  help  feeling 
a  sort  of  admiration  for  the  man  who  could  thus  run  away 
from  his  own  renown.  He  was  not  altogether  mercenary 
in  his  character;  he  loved  success  even  more  than  wealth, 
and  though  the  odds  were  all  against  the  young  pastor, 
he  could  not  deny  that  these  were  indications  of  approval 
that  might  have  Mattered  a  much  older  man.  He  was 
none  the  less  determined  to  oppose  him ;  but  decided,  as 
he  followed  the  voluble  landlady  down-stairs,  to  do  it  very 
cautiously.  It  might  be  that  the  time  had  come  for  mak 
ing  a  start  in  the  direction  Murvale  Eastman  had  indi- 


ATTACKING    THE   SUPPLY   TRAIX. 


141 


cated.  If  that  were  the  case.,  of  course  there  would  be 
no  use  in  trying  to  prevent  it. 

Mr:  Kishu  had  a  profound  belief  in  Divine  power.  He 
had  seen  not  a  few  miracles  performed  in  his  day.  He 
remembered  that  even  after  he  had  reached  man's  estate, 
he  had  seen  a  mob  raging  through  the  streets  of  the  city, 
seeking  a  man's  life  because  he  had  spoken  against  the 
institution  of  slavery.  And  now  for  a  quarter  of  a  cen 
tury  there  had  not  been  a  slave  in  all  the  land.  He  never 
doubted  God's  power  to  do  anything,  after  that.  The 
only  question  with  him  was  whether  the  Lord  was  ready 
to  have  a  particular  thing  done.  Once  convinced  of  that, 
Mr.  Kishu  was  the  last  man  to  stand  in  the  way.  He 
believed  in  God  with  a  sincere,  unquestioning  conviction, 
and  counted  it  folly  to  resist  the  Divine  purpose  when 
the  Deity  was  really  in  earnest  about  a  thing. 

On  his  way  back  to  the  office,  he  happened  to  think  of 
the  aunt  on  whose  kindness  Murvale  Eastman's  expecta 
tions  of  fortune  depended.  She  was  yet  at  the  seashore, 
but  he  sent  a  telegram  inquiring  if  she  knew  her  nephew's 
whereabouts,  and  manifesting  some  solicitude  in  regard 
to  him.  He  responded  by  letter  to  the  reply  received 
half  an  hour  afterward,  briefly  excusing  himself,  by  hint 
ing  that  his  inquiry  was  prompted  by  an  anxiety  for  the 
welfare  of  his  daughter;  and  was  not  at  all  surprised  when 
an  afternoon  train  brought  the  lady  herself  to  ascertain 
the  nature  of  her  nephew's  delinquency.  She  was  fond 
and  proud  of  the  young  man,  but  the  jealousy  of  inherited 
wealth  made  her  sensitive  upon  the  subject  he  had  chosen 
for  the  sermons  of  the  coming  year,  and  when  she  left 
Mr.  Kishu's  office,  that  worthy  felt  that  victory  was  half- 
achieved — he  had  cut  off  the  young  pastor's  reserve  sup 
plies!  Hereafter,  Murvale  Eastman  would  have  to  de- 


1 42  .v 1  'A'  /'.//.  /•:  /•:.-/  s  T. i/.  /  v. 

pend  entirely  upon  his  own  earnings  unless  he  should  re 
cant.  His  salary  as  the  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  was, 
of  course,  a  liberal  one,  but  would  the  church  submit  to 
the  spoliation  of  its  lilies?  That  was  the  question. 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

"  NUMBER  FORTY-SIX." 

"  NUMBER  FORTY-SIX  !  " 

It  was  early  morning,  not  yet  light,  and  chilly  for  the 
season.  The  drivers  of  the  Belt  and  Cross-Cut  Metro 
politan  Railway  were  gathering  at  the  great  stables  on  the 
corner  of  Hickory  Street  and  Jackson  Avenue,  where 
twenty-five  hundred  horses  were  housed  and  fed  and 
three  hundred  cars  kept  in  a  sufficiently  poor  condition  to 
make  the  public  feel  how  completely  they  were  at  the 
mercy  of  the  Belt  and  Cross-Cut  line.  The  drivers  were 
waiting  with  dinner-pails  in  hand,  standing  and  squatting 
about  in  little  groups  on  the  wide  expanse  of  track-cut 
pavement  which  constituted  the  car-shed.  The  stables, 
feed  and '  cleaning  rooms  were  all  above.  The  superin 
tendent's  office  was  on  the  left  of  the  entrance  going  in, 
and  the  time-keeper's  lodge  on  the  right.  The  feeders 
and  cleaners  were  hard  at  work,  and  the  horses  for  the 
early  morning  cars  were  being  inspected  by  the  foreman 
as  they  came  down  the  long  wharfway  that  led  to  the 
stalls. 

The  Belt  and  Cross-Cut  Company  were  very  proud  of 
their  horses,  and  had  good  reason  to  be.  One  of  the  lead 
ing  members  of  the  Society  for  the  Prevention  of  Cru 
elty  to  Animals  was  on  its  board  of  directors,  all  of  whose 


"  .\7 '.I/A'/-'//    /-'OA'TV-MX."  14-5 

members  were  broad-minded,  liberal  Christian  gentlemen 
svho  would  not  tolerate  over-working  or  under-feeding 
their  dumb  servitors.  They  had  in  their  employ  one  of 
the  most  skillful  veterinary  surgeons  of  the  country,  whose 
recommendations  as  to  feed,,  care,  and  working  of  their 
horses  were  implicitly  observed.  No  one  ever  saw  a 
lame  horse  go  out  of  their  palatial  stables  attached  to  a 
car;  the  rations  were  of  the  most  nutritious  character; 
the  animals  were  fed  six  times  a  day,  and  never  two  suc 
cessive  days  exactly  the  same  things  in  the  same  order. 
They  were  curried  and  clipped  by  machinery,  and  no 
tired  horse  went  to  his  stall  muddy-footed  or  unblanketed. 
The  hospital  for  the  temporarily  disabled  was  of  a  char 
acter  to  suit  the  requirements  of  the  most  fastidious 
equine  invalid,  while  a  green  paddock  forty  miles  back 
in  the  country  was  kept  for  the  especial  comfort  of  con 
valescents.  The  company  boasted  that  they  required  of 
their  beasts  less  work  daily  and  treated  them  more  lib 
erally  than  any  other  horse-car  company  in  the  world. 
They  did  this  for  two  reasons:  first,  because  the  man 
agers  thought  it  cruel  and  unmanly  to  overwork  dumb 
brutes ;  and,  second,  because  they  had  demonstrated  that 
it  was  good  policy  to  give  them  plenty  of  rest,  abundant 
food,  and  careful  attention.  They  lasted  longer,  were 
more  reliable,  better-tempered,  and  less  apt  to  become 
diseased,  if  thus  treated. 

Every  intelligent  man  approved  these  views.  People 
sometimes  hinted  the  wish  that  a  similar  enlightened  pol 
icy  obtained  with  regard  to  the  cars  the  company  used ; 
but  as  their  condition  only  affected  the  health  and  com 
fort  of  the  passengers,  they  could  hardly  be  expected  to 
be  as  careful  of  them  as  of  the  stock  they  owned.  Hu 
manity  which  is  based  on  profitable  returns  is  not  only 


T  4  4  M  UR  VA  I.  /•    /•:  ASTMAtf. 

the  easiest  to  practice,  but  the  one  most  likely  to  be  pop 
ular  with  investors.  In  the  present  state  of  the  law  and 
medical  science,  it  does  not  make  a  fig's  difference  with 
the  treasury  whether  a  street-car  becomes,  a  vehicle  for 
contagion  or  not.  The  profits  are  just  the  same,  and  the 
cost  of  purification  that  ought  to  be  done  and  is  not  is 
clear  net  gain.  The  managers  are,  of  course,  sorry  that 
people  sicken  or  die,  but  "  business  is  business,"  and  men 
and  women  must  take  their  chances  in  this  world,  and 
this  happens  to  be  one  of  the  chances. 

Until  the  recent  strike,  the  company  had  required  its 
drivers  to  work  from  twelve  to  sixteen  hours  for  a  day's 
work,  and  had  paid  the  very  lowest  wages  at  monthly  in 
tervals.  None  of  the  principles  applied  to  their  stock 
were  regarded  as  applicable  to  their  human  servants. 
Even  the  most  humane  of  the  directors  insisted  upon  this 
policy.  They  were  not,  he  maintained,  in  any  manner 
responsible  for  the  health,  comfort,  morality,  contentment, 
or  longevity  of  the  men  whom  they  employed.  Labor,  he 
declared,  is  a  mere  commodity;  so  the  text-books  on 
political  economy  teach,  and  if  that  be  true  the  managers 
were  manifestly  right.  Being  a  commodity,  the  only  just 
and  natural  method  of  regulating  wages  was,  they  con 
tended,  by  "the  universal  and  divine  law  of  supply  and 
demand."  There  could  not  be  too  much  labor  in  the 
world,  for  the  demand  must  always  regulate  the  supply. 
Just  how  the  rule  operated  was  not  exactly  understood, 
but  there  was  no  doubt  about  the  fact.  If  there  was  a 
surplus  of  labor  at  one  point,  or  the  price  was  too  low  to 
permit  the  laborer  to  live  and  support  his  family,  he  must 
go  into  some  other  business  or  take  his  labor  to  some 
other  market. 

How  shall  he  get  there?     That  was  a  question  for  the 


•  •  .\ 'C. •\fBJ-.R   FOR  T }  '-.SY.V. "  1 45 

laborer;  so  the  managers  contended.  The  Belt  and 
Cross-Cut  Railway  was  merely  a  buyer  in  the  labor-mar 
ket.  They  offered  wages  enough  to  get  their  work  done 
— that  was  all.  How  much  could  they  afford  to  pay? 
That  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter.  The  company 
was  not  organized  for  the  benefit  of  the  drivers  and  con 
ductors,  but  for  the  advantage  of  the  stockholders:  the 
Belt  and  Cross-Cut  was  run  on  business  principles.  It 
is  true  they  used  the  city's  streets,  and  were  given  an  ex 
clusive  privilege  therein ;  but  their  cars  were  run  for  the 
stockholders,  not  for  the  city. 

"  Suppose  the  city  should  undertake  to  run  the  cars 
herself?  "  Just  let  her  try  it.  The  company  had  a  char 
ter — that  is,  a  contract — allowing  them  to  do  almost  any 
thing  they  chose  for  a  certain  number  of  years;  and  they 
could  not  be  "  beat "  out  of  that  unless  paid,  not  only  for 
their  outlay,,  but  for  all  they  might  make  by  any  sort  of  ex 
action  or  by  any  avoidance  of  outlay  during  the  pendency 
of  the  same.  The  city  might  perhaps  require  service  of 
them,  but  they  were  themselves  the  sole  judge  in  regard 
to  the  sort  of  service  they  should  render.  This  was  the 
law,  they  said,  and  they  stood  upon  the  law.  They  paid 
the  market  price  for  labor — that  is,  enough  to  get  men  to 
run  their  cars.  _If  the  men  weren't  satisfied  with  the 
wages,  let  them  go  where  they  could  do  better. 

This  was  the  position  of  the  directors  of  the  Belt  and 
Cross-Cut  Company  on  the  "  labor  question."  The  super 
intendent  was  a  graduate  of  West  Point,  the  school  at 
which  the  republic  educates  an  aristocracy  to  command 
her  armies,  which  makes  the  private  soldier's  lot  in  them 
so  unendurable  to  a  self-respecting  man  that  one  in  every 
ten  deserts  yearly.  The  superintendent  was  what  is  termed 
a  rigid  disciplinarian,  hard  as  granite  and  cold  as  ice. 
10 


146  MURVALE  EASTMA  \ . 

There  were  two  classes  of  people  in  the  world,  according 
to  his  ideas:  "gentlemen"'  and  "men."  In  the  army 
these  classes  correspond  to  ''officers"  and  "enlisted 
men ;  "  in  civil  life  to  those  who  live  by  the  profits  on 
others'  labor,  and  those  who  subsist  by  their  own.  He 
was  a  very  efficient  man,  who  applied  the  principles  of  his 
employers  to  the  management  of  their  affairs  with  scru 
pulous  exactness.  Since  the  recent  strike  he  had  made 
it  a  rule  to  be  at  the  stables  every  morning  when  the  day- 
cars  started  out.  There  were  still  mutterings  of  discon 
tent  among  the  men,  and  he  did  not  propose  to  let  it  ripen 
into  revolt  again.  Every  man  who  showed  signs  of  in 
subordination  would  be  discharged.  The  company  want 
ed  no  unwilling  servants. 

"Number  Forty-six!  "  bawled  the  sleepy  clerk,  coming 
out  into  the  shed  with  a  pen  behind  his  ear,  and  address 
ing  a  crowd  of  drivers  who  were  waiting  for  their  teams. 
A  young  man  who  was  squatting  against  the  wall  beside 
the  outgoing  track  in  conversation  with  three  or  four 
others,  rose  and  answered  the  hail. 

"  The  superintendent  wants  you,"  said  the  clerk  snap 
pishly. 

The  young  man  took  up  his  dinner-pail  and  started 
toward  the  office.  He  walked  briskly  but  not  hurriedly, 
and  wore  a  pair  of  brown  glasses  as  if  to  protect  his  eyes. 

"  Hurry  up!  "  shouted  the  clerk.  "  Do  you  think  the 
superintendent  can  wait  all  day?  " 

"  He'll  wait  until  I  get  there,  won't  he?  " 

"  Not  much  he  won't.  We  don't  hire  men  to  move  at 
that  gait  around  here." 

"  That's  so,  partner,"  said  one  of  the  other  drivers. 
"  You're  a  new  hand,  or  you'd  have  known  that  *  the  col 
onel  '  learned  double-quicking  at  West  Point,  and  don't 


"  NUMBER    I'OK  T }  *-.SY.V."  T  ;  7 

allow  any  common-time  movements  when  a  man's  on 
duty.  You  can  go  home  as  slow  as  you're  a-mind  to  if 
you  don't  get  asleep  on  the  way;  but  when  he  or  his  un- 
der-strappers  speak  you're  expected  to  '  git  up  and  dust!  ' ' 

The  young  man,  who  was  now  half-way  across  the  shed, 
neither  accelerated  his  step  nor  seemed  at  all  disturbed 
by  these  remarks.  As  he  came  up,  the  irate  clerk  re 
peated: 

"  Did  you  hear  what  I  said?  The  superintendent  wants 
you." 

"  If  you  think  he  is  very  impatient,  you  might  run  on 
and  tell  him  I'm  coming,"  said  the  young  man  pleasantly. 

"  Don't  give  me  any  of  your  lip,"  blustered  the  clerk. 
"  You'll  get  a  fiver  on  it  if  you  do!  " 

"  Don't  try  anything  of  that  kind,  my  friend,"  answered 
the  man.  "You  can't  afford  to  lose  a  week's  work." 

The  clerk  made  no  answer,  but  turned  on  his  heel,  and 
entering  the  office  said  in  a  deferential  tone: 

"  Here's  Number  Forty-six,  sir." 

"  Good-morning,"  said  the  young  man  with  the  dinner- 
pail. 

"Are  you  Number  Forty-six?"  asked  the  superintend 
ent,  turning  sharply  on  the  new-comer.  It  was  a  way  he 
had  learned  at  West  Point  and  he  considered  it  very 
effective  in  maintaining  discipline. 

"  That's  not  my  name,"  answered  the  young  man  good- 
humoredly. 

"Who  cares  about  your  name?  Are  you  driver  Num 
ber  Forty-six  in  the  employ  of  the  Belt  and  Cross-Cut 
Railway  Company?  " 

"  Really,  I  do  not  know,  sir,  and  care  as  little  about  it 
as  you  do  about  my  name." 

"Don't   know!      Weren't   you   given    a   card,  and   told 


148  iirURrAI.F.    EASTMAN. 

that  the  company  knew  no  names,  but  kept  the  accounts 
with  its  men  by  numbers?  '' 

"  I  think  I  was." 

"And  what  have  you  done  with  it?  " 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know,  sir." 

"  Don't  you  intend  to  comply  with  the  company's 
rules?" 

"  I  have  done  the  company's  work  faithfully,  but  am 
not  aware  that  this  fact  gives  its  officials  a  right  to  change 
my  name  or  assign  me  a  number  as  they  do  their  horses, 
or  as  a  prisoner  is  served  in  the  penitentiary/' 

"  See  here,  young  man,  it's  your  business  to  do  the 
company's  work,  not  to  criticise  its  methods,"  said  the  su 
perintendent  severely. 

"  I  know  of  no  reason  why  I  should  not  do  both,"  re 
joined  the  other  with  a  smile. 

"  Well,  you  can't  do  it  here,"'  retorted  the  manager  an 
grily. 

"  I  think  I  can,"  was  the  reply,  with  a  pleasant  and 
amiable  inconation. 

"You  do!  Well,  I'd  like  to  know  on  what  you  base 
your  opinion  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  free  American  citizen,  who  has  the  right  to  be 
addressed  by  his  own  name,  and  no  gentleman  will  think 
of  giving  him  any  other  designation." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  be  impudent?"  asked  the  manager. 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  was  trying  to  be  polite." 

"  I  have  half  a  mind  to  kick  you  out  of  the  office. " 

"  I  am  glad  it  is  only  half  a  mind." 

"Why?" 

"Because  it  would  not  be  wise  to  undertake  it." 

"Ross!"  to  the  clerk.  "Tell  the  foreman  to  come 
here — immediately." 


L 'MBER  FO R T V- SIX" 


149 


The  clerk  started  to  perform  his  errand. 

"  Better  not  set  your  bully  on  me,  Mr.  Temple,"  said 
the  young  man  coolly. 

"Why  not?'' 

"  Because  you  will  be  out  of  a  job  before  night  if  you 
do.'' 

"I!" 

"  You,  sir." 

"What  do  you  mean?     Who  are  you,  anyhow?" 

"  I  am  the  man  who  saved  the  life  of  the  president  of 
this  company  from  the  mob,  and  for  whom  he  has  adver 
tised  ever  since." 

"The  devil!  "  exclaimed  the  superintendent. 

"  Oh,  I  hope  not/' 

"Well,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  other  apologetically,  "no 
harm  was  intended  by  the  number  business.  It's  just  a 
custom  of  the  company — merely  for  convenience,  you 
know." 

"  It  is  a  most  debasing  custom  and  a  very  inconvenient 
one,  an  injustice  to  the  drivers  and  an  inconvenience  to 
the  accountants.  Viewed  from  the  men's  standpoint  it 
is  only  an  arrogant  display  of  power." 

"  You  had  better  say  that  to  the  president,"  said  the 
superintendent,  smiling. 

"  I  intend  to  do  so,"  replied  the  other.  "  I  have  an  ap 
pointment  with  him  at  twelve,  and  was  about  to  come  and 
ask  you  to  put  some  one  else  on  my  run." 

"  For  the  afternoon,  I  suppose?     Very  well." 

"  I  shall  have  to  ask  you  to  make  it  permanent,"  an 
swered  the  young  man. 

"Ah,  you've  got  another  job?  Never  mind,  Mike,"  to 
the  foreman,  "  I  shall  not  need  you.  You  may  get  your 
breakfast  now,  Ross." 


T5o  HURT  ALE   EASTM 

"  Let  me  know  when  my  car  is  ready,  if  you  please,  Mr. 
Kennedy,'1  said  Number  Forty-six. 

"All  roight,  sorr,"  answered  the  bruiser-foreman  re 
spectfully. 

"  See  here,  Mr. excuse  me,  I  have  forgotten  your 

name,"  said  the  superintendent,  "  I  like  you.  Could  you 
be  induced  to  come  into  the  office  here?  We  need  just 
such  a  man." 

"  I  could  hardly  give  up  my  present  place  for  it.'' 

"What  is  that?" 

The  young  man  put  his  hand  in  his  pocket,  took  out  a 
card,  and  handed  it  to  the  superintendent. 

The  latter  glanced  from  the  card  to  the  face  of  the  man 
who  confronted  him,  flushed,  whistled,  and  exclaimed: 

"Well,  I  will -be— blessed!" 

"  I  certainly  hope  you  may,"  said  the  other, with  a  laugh. 

"  I  hope  you  will  say  nothing  to  the  president  about 
our  interview." 

"  Certainly  not,  if  you  will  agree  not  to  mention  it  to 
any  one  else." 

"  It's  a  bargain." 

The  two  men  shook  hands,  good-humoredly. 

"  By  the  way,"  said  the  driver,  "  as  a  matter  of  policy  I 
would  abolish  the  numbers.  A  man  likes  to  be  called 
Mr.  Jones  or  Mr.  Smith,  or  even  Jones  or  Smith,  but  he 
doesn't  like  to  be  called  '  Number  Forty-six!  '  It's  hard 
enough  to  be  a  driver,  without  being  addressed  as  a  jail 
bird." 

"  Here's  yer  car,  sorr,"  shouted  the  foreman  at  the 
door. 

"Thank  you,  Mr.  Kennedy,"  said  the  young  man  as 
he  turned  to  go. 

"  Well,  good-day,"  said    the  superintendent.     "  I  guess 


rriK  EYES  OF  .-/AY; us.  151 

you're   right,  sir;  but   I   hate   to   see  you  take   that  car 
out." 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right — my  last  trip,  you  know." 
"  Number  Forty-six  "  took  the  reins  from  the  helper  with 
a  word  of  thanks,  stepped  on  the  platform,  dinner-pail  in 
hand,  shook  the  lines  and  drove  out  of  the  shed,  whist 
ling  shrilly  to  a  truckman  who  was  obstructing  his  track. 


CHAPTER   XV. 

THE  EYES    OF    ARGUS. 

A  HALF-DOZEN  men  sat  at  as  many  small  tables  in  a 
long  bare  room  writing  steadily.  An  arc  light  hung  over, 
each  table.  There  was  a  sharp  whistle  at  one  of  a  set 
of  speaking-tubes  at  the  end  of  the  room. 

"See  what  the  'old  man'  wants,  won't  you,  Searle?" 
said  a  man  at  the  farther  end  of  the  room,  glancing  up 
from  his  work.  "  You  seem  to  be  the  only  one  that  has 
nothing  to  do." 

The  young  man  thus  addressed  had  been  sitting  for 
some  time  with  his  feet  on  one  of  the  tables,  rolling  a 
piece  of  paper  carefully  about  his  pencil  and  then  unroll 
ing  it,  only  to  repeat  the  process  again,  in  the  mean  time 
whistling  softly. 

"  It  will  give  you  a  chance  to  rest  that  whistle,  too," 
said  the  man  who  sat  next  to  him,  a  big -shouldered,  big- 
headed  fellow  with  brown  hair,  close-clipped,  which  stood 
out  from  his  head  in  all  directions,  whose  pencil  flew  over 
his  paper  with  a  furious  haste,  as  if  it  required  the  full 
force  of  the  muscular  hand  to  push  it. 

"Never  mind,  Flagler,"  answered  Searle,  while  he  rose 


I5 2  IFURVALE   EASTMAX. 

and  kicked  a  chair  out  of  his  way  as  he  sauntered  toward 
the  speaking-tube.  "The  fact  that  you  can't  tell  the 
difference  between  an  aria  from  the  latest  opera  and  the 
snore  of  a  hippopotamus  shouldn't  make  you  object  to  a 
little  music.  If  the  rest  of  us  don't  complain  of  your 
trotting  that  thirty-two  foot  on  a  squeaky  boot  you  ought 
not  to  say  anything  about  our  little  peculiarities." 

'*'  Don't  stop  him,"  said  another.  "  Flagler  can't  work 
unless  he  pumps  his  ideas  by  foot  power.  He  served  a 
term  on  the  treadmill  when  they  had  him  in  '  quod '  for 
choking  his  grandmother.  It  didn't  cure  his  stubborn 
ness,  but  he  got  a  habit  of  working  his  heels  whenever  his 
brain  is  a  little  empty,  which  we  all  know  is  pretty 
often." 

Flagler,  who  had  been  leaning  forward  in  his  chair,  his 
feet  balanced  on  the  toes,  busily  working  them  back  and 
forth  unconscious  of  the  squeak,  suddenly  ceased  his  cus 
tomary  movement,  thereby  starting  a  laugh  at  his  expense, 
though  no  one  stopped  work  even  to  look  up.  By  this 
time  Searle  had  reached  the  speaking-tube,  which  he 
opened  and  lazily  called : 

"Hello!" 

There  was  an  indistinct  rumble  in  the  tin  tube  and 
Searle  said,  without  looking  around: 

"  Burrows,  the  '  old  man '  wants  to  know  if  you  got  the 
Rev.  Eastman?  " 

"Thought  likely,"  replied  a  dark-haired,  sharp-faced 
young  man  at  one  of  the  tables  who  held  an  unlighted 
cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  had  an  unsatisfied  frown  on  his 
brow.  "  Tell  him  I  didn't,"  sharply. 

Searle  applied  his  mouth  again  to  the  tube. 

"  Better  come  and  explain  it  yourself,  Burrows,"  he 
said  a  moment  after.  "  His  hair  is  beginning  to  curl  and 


THE  EYES  OF  ARGUS.  153 

he  is  talking  in  a  very  familiar  strain  about  his  particular 
friend." 

"Hasn't  got  to  the  devil  so  soon,  has  he?"  asked  the 
first  speaker.  "  Better  go,  Burrows ;  he'll  blow  the  mouth 
piece  off  next." 

"  Hurry  up,  Burrows,"  said  Searle  languidly.  "  He 
wants  to  know  why  you  didn't  get  him — '  best-known  man 
in  the  city ' — '  Boston  and  Chicago  papers  full  of  him  '- 
'  better  hire  a  dog  to  lead  you  about  the  streets  ' — 'couldn't 
find  the  City  Hall,  could  you?'  You  see  he's  working 
himself  up. 

"All  right,  sir;  he's  coming.  Will  be  here  as  soon  as 
he  can  slip  his  ear-pads  on  and  get  past  Flagler's  feet ; 
here  he  is." 

Searle  let  the  spring  loose,  shutting  off  reply,  and  handed 
the  tube  to  Burrows. 

A  laugh  went  around  the  room,  and  the  elderly  man 
who  had  spoken  first  said,  seriously: 

"Better  lookout,  Searle;  the  'old  man '  won't  stand 
fooling  with.  You'll  wake  up  some  day  to  find  he  has 
concluded  to  take  a  tearful  farewell  of  you  and  your  jokes." 

"  Not  while  the  Morning  Breeze  gets  my  invaluable  ser 
vices  at  the  present  moderate  figure,"  answered  Searle 
coolly,  as  he  reseated  himself  on  the  table  and  resumed 
his  former  attitude. 

Percy  W.  Searle  was  one  of  the  most  valuable  men  on 
the  Morning  Breeze,  and  knew  that  fact,  as  did  all  of  his 
co-laborers.  A  slender,  blue-eyed,  quiet  man,  considera 
bly  under  the  average  size ;  pale-faced  and  of  delicate, 
almost  dull,  expression,  he  was  one  of  the  last  men  an  or-  » 
dinary  observer  would  have  selected  for  a  city  reporter. 
Added  to  this  were  the  seeming  disqualifications  of  ina 
bility  to  take  stenographic  notes  and  never  being  in  a 


154  J/£  Vv' '  '*££  EA  STAIAN+ 

hurry.  But  he  knew  the  city  from  end  to  end ;  never 
made  any  mistakes  as  to  his  route ;  was  acquainted  with 
nearly  everybody  worth  knowing;  never  talked  about  his 
business ;  had  a  memory  as  hard  to  rub  a  fact  out  of  as  a 
steel  plate;  wielded  a  caustic  pen,  but  never  got  himself 
or  his  paper  into  difficulties;  never  made  any  serious 
blunders;  was  always  ready  to  undertake  anything  re 
quired,  and  seldom  failed  to  accomplish  what  he  under 
took.  He  was  popular  with  his  associates,  simply  because 
he  never  blabbed ;  was  accommodating,  quiet,  and  gen 
erally  accounted  dangerous  to  meddle  with. 

The  roaring  at  the  speaking-tube  still  continued,  and 
presently  Burrows  left  the  room  to  go  up-stairs  and  explain 
his  failure,  face  to  face  with  the  "  old  man.'' 

One  by  one,  while  this  had  been  in  progress,  the  other 
men  had  finished  their  work,  all  but  one  at  least,  and  had 
rushed  to  the  slide  hole,  thrust  their  copy  into  a  box, 
slipped  it  into  a  pneumatic  tube,  and  it  had  been  whisked 
away  to  the  managing  editor's  room.  One  after  another 
tvhey  lighted  their  cigars  and  awaited  that  functionary's 
pleasure. 

"What's  the  matter,  Searle?  You  don't  seem  to  be 
brisk  to-night.  I'm  afraid  the  Breeze  won't  be  very  stiff 
in  the  morning,  so  far  as  you  are  concerned." 

"About  as  dry  a  half-column  as  I  ever  wrote,  but  I'll 
bet  a  suit  of  clothes  it'll  be  read  by  more  people  than  any 
other  bit  of  work  in  it." 

"  I'll  take  that,"  said  the  heavy-set  man,  with  a  sneer 
on  his  face,  who  was  still  at  work. 
*     "  How's  this,  Jones?     Have  you  got  something  good?  " 

"Juicy,"  answered  the  worker  sententiously. 

"And  you're  doing  it  up  in  your  best  style?"  asked 
another  blandly. 


THE  EYES   OF  ARGUS  155 

"  You  bet." 

"  Then  I'll  go  '  hav'vers '  with  Searle,"  said  the  other. 

The  retort  brought  a  laugh,  but  Jones  worked  on 
steadily. 

"  What  is  it,  Jonesey?  Tell  us  now,''  asked  the  rollick 
ing  young  fellow,  who  seemed  inclined  to  banter  the  one 
belated  worker. 

"All  about  the  Reverend  Eastman,1'  answered  Jones, 
with  a  grin. 

"  Have  you  seen  him?  " 

"  No;  but  I  know  where  he  is." 

"  You  do?  "  chorus  from  all  the  others. 

**  I  do  that;  and  I've  seen  her" 

"  Is  there  a  woman  in  it?  " 

"  There  isn't  anything  else,"  exultantly. 

"  Well,  that  is  a  soft  snap.  How'd  you  get  onto  it, 
Jonesey?  " 

The  writer  tapped  his  head  and  winked. 

"Oh!  Oh!  Oh!"  groaned  the  others  in  discordant 
unison. 

"Why,  that's  the  very  thing  Burrows  is  'taking  his 
medicine '  up-stairs  for  not  getting  hold  of." 

Jones  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"And  you  mean  to  say  that  you  found  it,  traced  it  out, 
discovered  it,  Jonesey?"  asked  the  boyish  tease.  "Bet 
you  a  dozen  a  newsboy  put  you  up  to  it." 

"Oh,  no/' said  another;  "Jones  stepped  on  a  banana 
peel  and  sat  down  on  it." 

"  No,  sir,  I  tracked  him  to  his  hole,  myself." 

"  Must  have  been  a  pretty  strong  scent  \iyou  found  it." 

"Of  course,  I  didn't  find  it  exactly — not  to  say  find. 
that  is — for  it  wasn't  my  detail.  I  just  stumbled  across  it." 

Another  chorus  of  "  Ohs!  " 


!56  Ml'RVALE   EASTMAN. 

"  Own  up  now,  Jonesey,  and  tell  who  it  was  put  you 
up  to  it." 

"  Well,  I  got  a  hint — just  a  hint,  you  know — from  old 
Kishu." 

"You  did?  Well  you  are  fresh.  Didn't  you  know 
that  if  Kishu  had  anything  worth  giving  away  he'd  give  it 
to  the  Thunderbolt?  Why,  man,  he's  got  stock  in  the 
Thunderbolt,  and  no  man  ever  knew  how  to  butter  his  own 
bread  better  than  Wilton  Kishu.  You'd  better  be  mighty 
shy  about  what  you  get  from  him." 

"  Oh,  he  didn't  mean  to  give  it  away — nothing  of  the 
kind.  He  just  let  it  slip  accidentally  and  I  caught  on  to 
the  clew  and  followed  it  up,  that's  all." 

"Accidentally,  eh?  "  said  Searle  sarcastically.  "Now, 
Jones,  you  aren't  half  a  bad  fellow,  though  I  believe,  on 
my  soul,  you'd  like  to  be,  or  at  least  have  others  think 
you  were,  but  you  seem  to  have  no  more  idea  of  human 
nature  than  a  pig  of  aerostatics.  Don't  you  know  that 
Wilton  Kishu  never  does  anything  by  accident?  Why, 
man,  he  parts  his  hair  with  a  compass,  and  never  draws  a 
breath  without  stopping  to  consider  whether  it  would  be 
better  to  breathe  or  not  to  breathe.  He's  a  very  good 
sort  of  a  man — I've  nothing  to  say  against  him,  but  nothing 
ever  happens  with  him ;  he  never  does  a  thing  by  impulse. 
He  wouldn't  know  himself  if  he  should  make  such  a 
break." 

"  Come  now,  I  think  you're  too  hard  on  Kishu,"  said 
Jones,  stopping  his  work  and  turning  with  his  elbows  on 
the  arms  of  his  chair.  "  I  think  he's  a  real  good  fellow." 

"Tell  us  all  about  it,  Jonesey,  that's  a  dear,"  said 
Marsh,  his  smooth-faced,  curly-haired  tormentor,  who  was 
stretched  out  on  one  of  the  tables.  He  kissed  his  fingers 
to  Jones  as  he  spoke,  and  though  the  others  roared,  Jones, 


THE  EYES  OF  ARGUS.  157 

the  chronic  blunderer  of  the  office,  was  too  good-natured 
to  be  angry.  In  fact,  nobody  was  ever  angry  with  Marsh, 
and  the  rollicking  scapegrace  had  saved  the  blundering 
fellow  from  so  many  contretemps  that  he  began  to  distrust 
his  firmest  conviction  when  the  saucy  Adonis  chose  to 
ridicule  what  he  had  undertaken. 

"  Go  on,  Jonesey!  Out  with  it!  He's  evidently  come 
the  confidential-sympathetic  dodge  on  you,  and  you  have 
bolted  him,  hair,  watch-chain,  and  all." 

Mr.  Kishu's  hair  was  of  a  silky  black,  always  parted  with 
the  utmost  precision,  falling  in  an  unbroken  wave  over 
his  little  ears,  the  lobes  of  which  were  just  visible  below 
it,  and  curling  smoothly  under  seemed  to  have  its  ends 
evenly  tucked  into  the  crease  between  two  fatty  rolls  of 
his  short  neck.  His  fob-chain  was  a  wide  ribbon  of  gold 
'links  from  which  hung  a  locket  containing  on  one  side 
the  likeness  of  his  daughter  and  on  the  other,  it  was  said, 
that  of  a  prince  who  had  once  honored  him  by  accepting 
his  hospitality  for  a  month  and  leaving  with  him  several  of 
his  lordly  I.  O.  U.s  at  his  departure.  The  dissolute  lord, 
no  'doubt,  thought  he  had  outwitted  the  snobbish  Ameri 
can,  but  Wilton  Kishu  knew  exactly  what  he  was  getting 
and  was  well  satisfied  with  his  bargain.  He  kept  the  I. 
O.  U.s  more  from  force  of  habit  than  anything  else;  never 
expecting  payment,  but  not  knowing  when  they  might  be 
convenient  in  securing  complaisance  on  the  part  of  the 
Prince  of  Moraydin.  Mr.  Kishu  had  a  wide  acquaint 
ance  abroad  which  he  had  secured  by  liberal  investments 
of  money  and  self-respect,  and  was  regarded  in  more  than 
one  foreign  capital  as  one  of  the  few  Americans  who  had 
a  just  estimate  of  the  immense  superiority  of  the  lordling 
over  the  simple  citizen  of  the  republic.  In  fact,  he 
made  the  lordlings  instruments  to  enhance  his  own  impor- 


1 58  M UK  TALE  EASTMAN 

tance  in  the  eyes  of  his  countrymen.  His  snobbery  was 
entirely  of  the  inferential  kind.  He  said  nothing  on  which 
his  foreign  guests  could  base  their  conclusions,  but  loaded 
them  with  gifts  and  took  care  never  to  contravene  any 
thing  they  said  about  themselves  or  his  country.  By  this 
means,  he  managed  to  have  his  countrymen  see  him  as 
reflected  in  the  favor  of  his  foreign  patrons.  It  was  a 
shrewd  way  to  secure  a  unique  distinction,  that  of  being 
hand-in-glove  with  distinguished  foreigners  ;  a  device 
which  neither  those  who  contributed  to  its  success  nor 
those  who  were  dazzled  by  its  results  ever  dreamed  of 
suspecting. 

"  You  might  as  well  tell  us,  Jones,"  said  Mather,  the 
one  middle-aged  man  who,  by  virtue  of  a  streak  of  gray  in 
his  black  whiskers,  seemed  to  assume  the  post  of  dean  Oi' 
this  convocation  of  scribbling  gossips.  "  You  know  you're- 
apt  to  put  your  foot  in  it  whenever  you  try  to  do  anything 
startling.  You  do  very  well  on  plain  work,  there's  no  de 
nying  that,  but  when  you  try  fancy  figures,  you're  always 
in  danger  of  a  bad  fall." 

"  See  here,  fellows,"  said  Jones  desperately.  "  You're 
all  wrong;  I  know  you  are,  but  just  for  the  fun  of  the 
thing,  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it." 

"  That's  right,  Jonesey,  tell  it  all— tell  it  all— tell  it  all," 
squealed  Marsh,  imitating  a  parrot's  crackling  tones  with 
wonderful  accuracy. 

"  You  shut  up,  Pretty  Poll,  or  I'll  throw  an  inkstand  at 
you,"  exclaimed  Jones,  beginning  to  show  irritation. 

"  Go  on,  Jones,  I'll  shut  his  wind  off  for  you,"  said 
Flagler,  reaching  over  and  drawing  Marsh's  head  and 
shoulders  off  the  table  and  into  his  lap,  where  the  fair- 
faced  boy  lay,  puffing  smoke  into  his  captor's  face.  The 
giant  ran  his  fingers  through  the  boy's  curly  locks  and 


TTTE   F.YF.S  OF 

petted  him  as  if  he  had  been  a  girl,  while  Jones  told  his 
story. 

"  Well,  you  see,  fellows,  I  was  going  along  past  Kishu's 
office  in  a  good  bit  of  a  hurry,  for  I  had  the  City  Hall  and 
the  Post  Office  to  do  and  it  was  getting  on  toward  three 
o'clock,  so  I  had  no  time  to  lose.  It  seems  he  saw  me, 
for  I  hadn't  gone  half  a  block  before  his  private  sec 
retary " 

"Goggles,  you  mean?"  interrupted  Searle. 

"  I  mean  that  lame  fellow  he  has  so  kindly  given  em 
ployment  to,"  answered  Jones  with  some  asperity. 

"At  about  half  what  he's  worth^-that's  right — go  on.'' 

"  Why  doesn't  he  go  somewhere  else,  then,  where  he 
can  get  more?  " 

"  Exactly  the  question  half  the  workers  in  the  country 
are  asking  about  themselves  to-day,  Jones.  I  happen  to 
know  in  this  case ;  but  don't  stop  to  ask  conundrums — 
go  on." 

"  Well,  the  secretary  said " 

"Oh,  never  mind  what  he  said:  we  all  know.  We've 
had  him  grabbing  our  coat-tails  as  if  he  hadn't  strength 
to  go  an  inch  farther  and  gulping  out  his  words  as  if  there 
was  a  premium  on  air :  '  Mr.  Kishu  is  very  sorry — but 
really — if  you  have  a  minute  to  spare Searle  mim 
icked  the  secretary  as  well  as  he  had  the  managing  editor, 
and  the  crowd  burst  into  a  laugh  as  they  saw  in  Jones's 
puzzled  face  a  confirmation  of  the  snarling  cynic's  guess. 

"  Well,"  said  Jones  with  a  droll  expression,  "  if  you  know 
so  much  about  this  story,  hadn't  you  better  go  on  and 
tell  it?  You  can  beat  me." 

"Can't  go  nny  farther,"  answered  Searle.  "for  I  can't 
imagine  what  on  earth  the  old  spider  wanted  of  you." 

"That's  just  what  puzzled  me;  but  I'd  hardly  got  in- 


1 60  ;T/  f "/"  f ''--/  /.  £•  TT.'f  -V  7'. I/,  r .  \ ". 

side  the  door  when  he  out  with  it.  The  fact  is,  he  was 
so  worried  he  didn't  half-know  what  he  was  saying." 

"  Well,  what  was  he  saying?  " 

"  He  wanted  to  know,  the  very  first  thing,  if  anybody 
had  found  him." 

"Found  whom?" 

"  That's  just  what  I  asked.  '  Why,  found  Eastman— the 
Reverend  Eastman,'  he  answered.  He  said  all  the  re 
porters  in  the  city  were  on  track  of  him,  and  he  knew  if 
one  had  found  where  he  was  they'd  all  know  it,  and  so 
called  me  in  to  inquire.  He  was  so  anxious  and  troubled 
about  him  that  he  couldn't  wait.  You  know,  he  just  runs 
the  Golden  Lilies." 

"  Keep  your  tenses  right,  Jones — has  run  it,  you  mean," 
interrupted  Searle. 

"  Yes,  and  will  keep  on  running  it,  if  this  fellow  East 
man  doesn't  smash  it  up  entirely."' 

"  You're  strong  on  facts,  Jones,  but  don't  prophesy. 
That's  your  weak  point.  Go  on." 

"  Well,  it  seems  nobody  had  been  able  to  find  him  all 
day.  Kishu  had  been  to  his  boarding-house,  and  was 
shown  into  his  room.  The  landlady  said  he  left  before 
daylight  this  morning,  and  nobody's  seen  hide  nor  hair  of 
him  since." 

"  That's  all  straight  so  far.  We  didn't  need  any  of  old 
Kishu's  palaver  to  find  that  out/' 

It  was  Burrows  who  spoke,  snappishly  enough,  too. 
The  "medicine  "  he  had  taken  evidently  had  not  agreed 
with  him. 

"True  enough,"  said  Jones  eagerly,  "but  Kishu  went 
into  his  room,  and  something  he  saw  there — he  didn't  tell 
me  what  it  was — satisfied  him  there  was  a  woman  in  the 
case — in  fact,  that  she  had  been  in  that  very  room,  though 


THE   EYES  OF  ARiiCS.  i6r 

the  landlady  assured  him  not  a  soul  had  entered  it  for  two 
months  until  the  minister  came  in  Saturday  night.  This 
naturally  troubled  him.  You  know  there's  been  some 
talk  about  his  daughter  and  this  Eastman.  He  says 
there's  nothing  in  it;  but  it  troubles  him  all  the  same.  It 
seems  the  minister  was  heard  to  make  an  engagement 
yesterday  with  a  strange  woman.  From  the  description 
I  knew  at  once  it  was  a  Mrs.  Sandford,  who  has  been 
stopping  at  the  Glenmore  for  some  weeks.  I  tried  to 
work  her  up  once,  when  things  were  dull  in  the  dog-days ; 
but  all  I  could  find  out  was  that  she  was  a  client  of  Met- 
ziger,  who  came  to  see  her  at  the  hotel  now  and  then. 
It  seems  that  Eastman's  aunt  has  got  wind  of  the  matter, 
too,  and  had  just  been  up  to  see  if  Kishu  could  tell  her 
anything  about  the  delinquent,  who,  instead  of  being  off 
yachting,  as  everybody  supposed,  turns  out  to  have  been 
hiding  here  in  the  city  for  a  month  past.  Now,  if  that 
isn't  enough  to  start  a  fellow,  what  is?" 

Jones  looked  around  on  his  auditors  as  if  challenging 
denial. 

"  Well— you  started,"  said  Searle. 

"'That's  about  all  I  did  do,  too,"  answered  Jones,  "for 
luck  put  the  key  of  the  situation  in  my  hand  before  I  had 
gone  five  blocks.  I  was  trying  to  decide  what  I  should  do 
next,  when  what  should  I  see  hut  a  cab  stopping  just 
ahead  of  me.  As  I  came  up  I  saw  Metziger  get  out  and 
help  this  very  lady  and  a  child  to  alight.  They  went  up 
the  steps,  he  opened  the  door  with  a  pass-key,  and  they 
all  went  in.  Presently  a  servant  came  out,  took  some 
parcels  from  the  cab,  paid  the  driver  and  dismissed  him. 
After  a  while,  Metziger  reappeared  and  stopped  a  mo 
ment  in  the  door,  giving  some  directions  to  the  servant. 
I  wasn't  near  enough  to  hear  the  first  of  them,  but  the  last 
ii 


1 62  Iff  UR  VALE   r.  AS  TAT  AN. 

was  to  admit  no  one  who  didn't  bring  a  written  order  from 
him,  except  the  Reverend  Mr.  Eastman !  Now,  what  do 
you  think  of  that?  " 

"  Jonesey,"  exclaimed  Marsh,  wriggling  himself  around 
on  Flagler's  lap,  so  as  to  face  the  narrator,  "Jonesey, 
shake!  Blessed  if  it  don't  look  as  if  you  had  finally  treed 
game  worth  watching.  You  dear  old  lunkhead,  I  con 
gratulate  you!  " 

"  Oh,  it's  being  watched — no  trouble  about  that,"  said 
Jones  enthusiastically,  "and  I'm  expecting  word  every 
minute  that  the  Reverend  Eastman  has  been  run  in  where 
he  can  be  found  when  he's  wanted.' 

"  You  went  back  and  told  Kishu  what  you  had  learned, 
I  suppose,"  said  Searle  quietly. 

"  I  thought  it  wouldn't  be  anymore  than  fair,"  admitted 
Jones  reluctantly. 

"  Of  course.  Well,  you've  let  the  Thunderbolt  in  for  as 
nasty  a  mess  as  it's  had  to  swallow  in  some  time." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  Do  you  know  anything  about 
this  woman?  " 

"  Not  a  word.  Never  heard  of  her  before,  but  the 
Thunderbolt " 

"  Ah,  he  promised  it  should  be  credited  to  the  Breeze. 
all  fair  and  square,"  interrupted  Jones. 

"  He  did!  "  exclaimed  Searle,  springing  to  his  feet,  his 
eyes  flashing  with  exultation.  "Jones,  you've  done  it! 
Your  fortune's  made !  You'll  be  on  the  way  to  Europe 
inside  of  twenty-four  hours !  Good  pay  and  expenses,  for 
six  months  at  least!  You've  struck  a  bonanza!  Have 
your  grip  packed  and  be  ready !  " 

"  That  won't  take  long,"  said  Jones  with  a  shrug.  "  Do 
you  think  the  Thutiderbolt  will  make  a  place  for  me?" 

"The  Thunderbolt!     You  dunderhead.     The  Thunder- 


THE  P.  YES  OF  ARGUS.  {63 

bolt  would  give  a  thousand  dollars  for  your  scalp  before 
the  ink  is  dry  on  their  morning's  issue!  Oh,  my,  what  a 
sell!  Give  me  your  copy,  Jones,  every  bit  of  it!  Never 
mind  what  I  want  of  it.  You've  made  your  Jack!  " 

There  was  no  more  languor  among  the  group  of  report 
ers  ;  every  one  was  awake  now. 

"What  do  you  know  about  the  matter,  Searle?  "  asked 
Marsh,  with  childish  eagerness.  "  Have  you  stumbled  on 
a  soft  snap,  too?  " 

"  I  have  had  the  best  and  the  worst  luck  to-day  I  ever 
heard  of,  and  have  made  the  most  unexpected  and  most 
unfortunate  c  scoop  '  of  my  life." 

"  Stop! "  exclaimed  Flagler,  "a  ' scoop  '  may  be  unex 
pected,  but  never  unfortunate.  Here's  Jones's,  now— 

"  He  hasn't  made  any  '  scoop ; '  he's  been  '  scooped.' 
That's  where  his  luck  comes  in,"  said  Searle.  "  He's 
made  a  big  strike  by  being  '  scooped ; '  I've  made  a  stu 
pendous  '  scoop  '  and  saved  the  Breeze  from  nobody  knows 
how  much  trouble;  and  I  won't  get  a  cent  for  it.  Con 
found  the  luck!  " 

"  What  is  it,  Petrus?  "  asked  Marsh.  "  Have  you  found 
Tascott?" 

"Or  Murvale  Eastman?"  added  Burrows. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  Searle  excitedly,  "  I've  been  with  \ 
Murvale  Eastman  for  four  hours  this  very  day,  and  know    W 
all  about  his  life  during  the  past  month— and  the  devil  of 
it  is,  I  can't  say  a  word  about  it!  " 

"That  is— a — go!  "  said  Flagler  seriously. 

"Who  is  she?"  piped  Marsh. 

"  Strangest  of  all.  fellows,"  continued  Searle  gravely, 
"  there  isn't  any  woman  in  it,  nor  any  wrong — only  just 
the  simplest  bit  of  straightforward  manliness  I  have  run 

nr»T-r»cc    ir>     o    trmrr    tir«*»   51 


time. 


164  M UK  VALE  EASTMA.V. 

"  Go  for  him,  Jonesey!  "  shouted  Marsh.  "  You  never 
were  as  '  fresh '  as  that," 

"  Hush,  baby!  "  said  Searle,  playfully  putting  his  hand 
over  Marsh's  mouth.  "  Don't  say  anything  more.  You're 
sure  to  be  sorry  for  it  if  you  do." 

"  Well,  I  don't  understand  it  yet,"  said  Jones  ruefully. 
"What  are  you  talking  about,  anyhow?" 

There  was  a  burst  of  laughter  from  the  others,  with 
cries  of  "  Put  him  out !  "  "  Bind  up  his  head !  "  "  Put  a 
cabbage  leaf  on  his  mouth! "  and  other  sarcastic  speeches. 

"Wait  until  I  see  the  'old  man'  a  few  minutes,  and  I'll 
tell  you,  boys,"  said  Searle  as  he  opened  the  door,  and 
they  heard  him  going  up  the  stairs,  three  steps  at  a  time. 
Five  minutes  afterward  a  call  came  down  the  speaking- 
tube  to  the  effect  that  there  would  be  special  work  for 
every  man  in  the  office,  and  that  no  reporter  must  leave 
the  building  on  any  account. 

This  meant  extra  pay,  according  to  the  rules  of  the 
office,  and  all  were  well  satisfied  with  the  arrangement. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

TOO    NATURAL    FOR    "REALISM."' 

"  JONESEY  has  told  his  story,"  said  Marsh  after  Searle's 
return,  "  now,  Searle,  let  us  have  yours." 

"  Well,  gentlemen,  if  I  tell  you  what  I  have  seen  to-day, 
you  will  understand  that  I  am  in  honor  bound  not  to  use 
it,  professionally,  or  I  should  have  had  a  couple  of  col 
umns  in  type  before  this  time  and  Jones  would  have  been 


TOO   XATURAL    FOR    "REALISM:'  165 

spared  the  trouble  of  working  up  his  material,,  and  of 
course  you  will  have  to  receive  it  on  the  same  terms." 

"  What  does  he  take  us  for?  "  asked  Burrows. 

"The  honor  of  a  reporter!"  exclaimed  Marsh  as  he 
blew  a  cloud  of  smoke  in  Flagler's  face. 

"All  right,  little  one,"  said  Searle  approvingly.  "  We 
all  know  you've  got  it.  There's  no  knight-errant  of  the 
quill  can  be  trusted  with  a  secret  more  securely  than  the 
'  blushing  baby  of  the  Breeze?  " 

"  Hear!  hear!  "  cried  the  others  with  a  laugh. 

"  Fellows,"  said  Marsh  with  serio-comic  gravity,  releas 
ing  himself  from  Flagler's  arms  and  sitting  upright  on 
the  table,  "  to  ease  the  conscience  of  Mr.  Searle,  I  pro 
pose  that  we  take  a  solemn  oath  never  to  reveal  the  se 
crets  he  may  impart.  Hold  up  your  right  hands,  gentle 
men  !  Shut  your  right  eyes !  Now,  in  nomine  Polypheme, 
you  do  solemnly  swear  not  to  speak,  write,  or  indite  any 
of  the  things  you  may  hear,  under  penalty  of  having  your 
sole  remaining  peeper  put  into  everlasting  mourning. 
S'help  ye  Sullivan,  Hyer,  et  id  onme  genus.  Go  on,  Bubo, 
I've  tied  their  tongues  and  palsied  their  hands.  You  can 
croak  to  your  heart's  content  now.  Your  honor  is  safe 
in  their  keeping.  But  do  hurry;  we're  getting  sleepy!  " 

The  frolicsome  boy — for  Marsh  was  one  of  those  men 
who  never  outgrow  their  boyhood — closed  his  eyes,  emitted 
a  snore,  and  fell  back  into  Flagler's  arms. 

"Now,  gentlemen,"  continued  Searle,  "if  Flagler  will 
choke  the  boy,  I'll  tell  you  a  bit  of  hard-pan  fact,  which 
if  a  novelist  should  use  he  would  have  the  whole  pack 
of  so-called  '  realists '  at  his  heels  before  the  ink  was  dry 
on  his  pages.  You  see,  the  '  realist '  is  always  ready  to 
believe  anything  mean;  but  anything  decent  and  manly 
he  declares  at  once  to  be  unnatural.  We,  who  see  life  as 


1 66  ML'Kl'ALE   EASTAfAN. 

it  is,  know  that  it  is  just  as  silly  to  premise  that  all  men 
are  bad  as  that  all  are  good.  But  I  did  not  mean  to  mor 
alize. 

"  You  know  I  was  sent  by  special  request  of  Tabor,  the 
president  of  the  Belt  and  Cross -Cut  Line,  to  report  a  lit 
tle  surprise  party  he  was  going  to  give  his  board  of  di 
rectors  to-day.  I  worked  the  company's  end  of  the 
strike,  you  may  remember,  and  did  something,  they 
thought,  to  bring  about  a  settlement.  As  this  was  to  be 
one  of  the  few  pleasant  things  growing  out  of  it,  he  wanted 
I  should  come  and  report  how  handsomely  the  company 
could  acknowledge  favors  when  disposed  to  do  so. 

"  You  remember  while  the  strike  was  on,  a  mob  sud 
denly  sprang  out  of  the  ground  one  day  and  turned  its 
head  toward  the  company's  stables  at  Jackson  Street  and 
Hickory  Avenue,  with  the  amiable  intention  of  burning 
them  to  the  ground.  They  were,  of  course,  the  most  sa 
lient  point  of  attack,  and  I  could  never  quite  understand 
why  they  were  left  unguarded.  The  police  were  all  busy, 
it  is  true,  guarding  the  cars  the  '  scabs '  were  trying  to 
run,  and  had  their  hands  pretty  full  at  that.  I  suppose 
very  few  of  the  men  live  near  the  stables,  and  the  chief 
trouble,  it  seemed  to  be  anticipated,  would  occur  in  the 
crowded  down-town  thoroughfares.  Up  to  that  time,  the 
new  drivers  had  met  with  no  difficulty  until  they  reached 
Fifth  Street,  more  than  a  mile  away  from  the  car-sheds. 
So  there  was  next  to  nothing  to  prevent  the  mob  from 
doing  as  they  liked  at  the  stables.  I  had  just  gone  up 
to  interview  Tabor  about  the  damage  done  to  his  track 
and  cars,  when  a  clerk  ran  in  to  tell  him  the  mob  were 
coming  to  the  stables,  and  advise  him  to  slip  out  the  back 
way  which  opens  on  Fifty-ninth  Street,  while  there  was 
an  opportunity. 


XATl'RAL  I-'OR    " KEALISAf"  167 

"  I  never  had  much  opinion  of  Tabor  until  that  day — • 
thought  he  was  a  good  enough  fellow,  but  had  no  idea 
there  was  any  sand  in  him.  You  know  he  is  a  little  but 
ter-ball  sort  of  a  chap,  whom  one  naturally  expects  to 
reach  his  highest  level  in  concocting  a  salad  or  cultivat 
ing  some  amiable  fad.  But  if  he  flinched  a  hair  that  day 
I  didn't  see  it,  and  I  believe  you  will  admit  I'm  a  pretty 
fair  judge  of  nerve." 

"  O,  a  man  that's  had  six  weeks  in  Bedlam  can  claim 
anything  he  chooses  in  that  line,"  said  Marsh. 

A  flush  came  upon  Searle's  face,  for  he  had  won  fame 
and  a  foremost  place  in  his  profession  at  the  same  time, 
by  having  himself  sent  to  an  insane  asylum  and,  after  a 
few  weeks,  being  released  by  legal  process  and  recounting 
his  experience. 

"  It  never  seemed  to  me  that  lay  required  so  much  nerve 
as  it  did  brain,"  said  Jones.  "  I  could  never  see  how 
Searle  thought  of  just  the  right  things  for  a  crazy  man  to 
do.  I'm  sure  I  couldn't." 

'"  Jones — ey  !  "  exclaimed  Marsh,  springing  up  excitedly. 
"  Don't,  for  pity's  sake,  don't  overload  us  with  unbolted 
fact!  We  all  knowjw/  couldn't  do  it — it  isn't  likely  any 
of  the  rest  of  us  could  —but  you  had  no  business  to  im 
peril  Searle's  life  by  absolutely  compelling  him  to  blush. 
It's  too  great  a  strain  on  his  nervous  system." 

Flagler's  big  hand  closed  about  the  shapely  throat  and 
crowded  the  curly  head  back  upon  his  knee. 

"As  I  said,  Tabor  didn't  flinch,"  continued  Searle  with 
a  smile.  "  The  Belt  and  Cross-Cut  had  good  reason  to  be 
proud  of  their  president  that  day.  He  stood  by  his  trust 
like  a  man.  I  went  out  with  him,  not  intending  to  stand 
by  him  at  all,  but  just  to  see  the  fun.  The  mob  was  tak 
ing  the  whole  broad  street  to  itself.  You've  most  of  you 


1 68  Ml  'A'  J \l /  I'    /-.I S TMA X. 

seen  such  crowds  from  the  rear  or  the  flanks,  but  it  is 
when  coming  head  on,  like  a  mad  bull,  that  it  impresses 
one  most.  There  was  a  solid  mass  of  two  or  three  thou 
sand,  I  should  think,  in  the  middle  of  the  street,  not  run 
ning,  but  pushing  on  in  that  panting  walk  which  shows 
determination  as  well  as  haste.  It  is  evident  that  they 
had  made  a  forced  march,  and  that  the  plan  was  a  delib 
erate  one.  I  told  Tabor  there  was  no  use  of  trying  to 
stop  them ;  but  the  man  was  deaf.  He  said  they  never 
should  touch  the  property  until  they  had  killed  him. 
Those  in  the  middle  of  the  street  were  nearly  all  men, 
sturdy,  black-browed,  sweaty  fellows,  who  looked  as  if 
nothing  short  of  annihilation  would  balk  their  purpose. 
The  crowd  on  the  sidewalk  was  a  little  behind  the  center 
and  very  noisy.  There  were  a  good  many  women  and 
hoodlums  among  them.  The  front  of  the  column  was 
clear — I  remember  noticing  as  an  anomaly  that  the  small 
boy  did  not  head  the  procession — the  only  one  I  ever 
saw  which  he  did  not  at  least  keep  up  with. 

"  There  were  a  dozen  or  so  of  us  about  Tabor,  mostly 
in  his  rear,  and  all  ready  to  retreat  at  a  moment's  notice ; 
but  he  stood  his  ground  just  where  the  tracks  turn  out  of 
the  street,  and  forbade  the  rioters  coming  any  farther. 
He  might  just  as  well  have  talked  to  a  tidal  wave.  They 
told  him  to  get  out  of  the  way,  and  when  he  did  not, 
opened  on  him  with  stones  and  brickbats,  without  so 
much  as  pausing  to  parley.  Tabor  went  down  at  the 
first  fire,  fortunately  for  him  and  all  hands.  He  wasn't 
hurt  much — just  stunned  and  given  a  beauty-spot  I 
think  he's  prouder  of  to-day  than  anything  else  he  pos 
sesses. 

"  The  black  crest  of  the  angry  wave  was  within  ten 
steps  of  us.  I  drew  my  pistol  and  stooped  down  to  drag 


TOO   XATUKAL   FOR    "REALISM."  169 

Tabor  Off.  Just  as  he  fell  somebody  called  out  his  name. 
It  was  like  a  spark  in  a  powder  magazine.  I  think  every 
tongue  in  that  struggling  mass  of  hate  reeked  with  curses 
when  they  heard  it.  I  knew  they  would  kill  him  if  they 
laid  hands  on  him,  and  so  kept  tugging  away  to  get  him 
back  into  the  office.  The  stones  flew  pretty  thick,  and 
I  think  there  were  some  shots  fired  at  me.  I  had  just 
made  up  my  mind  to  return  the  fire  when  some  one 
grasped  my  arm,  wrenched  my  pistol  away  and  threw  it 
across  the  street,  at  the  very  feet  of  the  mob.  A  shout 
went  up  as  they  saw  me  disarmed. 

"'Go!'  said  the  man  who  had  robbed  me,  in  a  stern 
whisper.  '  Leave  me  to  deal  with  them ! ' 

" '  But —    -'  said  I,  glancing  at  Tabor. 

"'Go!'  he  repeated.  '  My  life  for  his!  You  only  in 
crease  the  danger! ' 

"  I  turned  and  ran  back  to  the  stables,  not  at  all  sorry 
to  be  relieved.  Here  I  found  that  Kennedy  and  a  few 
of  the  men  who  stood  by  the  company,  or  more  probably 
dare  not  try  to  get  away,  had  closed  the  gates,  were  turn 
ing  the  horses  loose,  and  getting  out  the  hose.  I  went 
through  the  office  into  the  yard  and  asked  Kennedy  what 
it  meant.  He  said  that  at  the  last  minute  they  intended 
to  turn  the  hose  on  the  horses  and  when  they  became 
thoroughly  frightened,  open  the  gates  and  let  them  dash 
out  upon  the  crowd. 

"'Who  told  you  to  do  this?'  I  asked. 

'"The  man  out  there,'  said  Kennedy. 

"'And  who  is  he?'  I  asked. 

" '  Divil  a  bit  do  I  know;  some  of  the  perlice  fellers,  I 
take  it! ' 

"  It  was  a  terrible  idea  to  turn  more  than  a  thousand 
maddened  horses  against  that  human  wave,  but  there  was 


i-o  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

no  doubt  it  would  be  effective.  The  man  who  proposed 
it  had  not  only  sense,  but  sand  as  well. 

"  My  curiosity  about  this  matter  made  me  miss  the 
speech  the  man  who  was  standing  guard  over  Tabor  made 
to  the  crowd.  I  think  some  of  you  reported  it  in 
extenso  the  next  morning ;  perhaps  Marsh, — he  was  sup 
posed  to  have  been  there,  you  know." 

There  was  a  laugh  at  the  expense  of  the  curly-headed 
Adonis,  whose  protest  was  drowned  in  a  gurgle  by  Flag- 
ler's  throttling  clasp. 

"  I've  no  doubt  the  report  was  substantially  true,  though 
until  to-day  I  have  been  inclined  to  think  it  mythical.  It 
seems  that  a  good  portion  of  the  crowd  recognized  this 
man,  especially  the  women,  who  are  always  the  hardest 
part  of  a  mob  to  deal  with,  though  nobody  knew  who  he 
was  or  anything  about  him  beyond  the  fact  that  his  name 
was  Merrill.  He  had  taken  great  interest  in  the  strikers, 
and  was  said  to  have  visited  the  home  of  every  one  of 
them  and  assisted  the  most  needy.  While  approving  the 
strike,  he  discountenanced  violence,  but  counseled  firm 
ness  in  their  demand.  He  had  somehow  managed  to  cre 
ate  a  general  impression  that  he  was  able  to  do  much  more 
than  he  promised  or  even  intimated.  When,  therefore, 
he  commanded  them  to  halt,  and  accused  them  of  folly 
and  cowardice,  he  spoke  with  the  authority  of  one  whom 
they  knew  to  be  a  friend.  He  did  not  deal  in  soft  words 
with  them,  either,  but  rated  them,  as  near  as  I  can  learn, 
in  good  sound  fool's  English,  the  chief  beauty  of  which 
was  that  there  wasn't  too  much  of  it. 

"  The  trouble  in  dealing  with  mobs  usually  is  that  men 
want  to  make  speeches  to  them.  That  is  not  the  way. 
A  few  words  that  sting  and  burn;  and  then  something 
must  be  done  or  proposed  to  turn  them  from  their  pur- 


7^00  A? AT  URAL   FOR    ^REALISM"  171 

pose.  This  man  hardly  used  ten  sentences,  they  say,  but 
I  have  no  doubt  that  he  put  into  them  all  that  Marsh 
crowded  into  half  a  column  of  eloquence  and  more  too." 

"Oh!     Oh! ''  groaned  the  reckless  culprit. 

"  Give  it  to  him,  Searle,"  said  Jones.  "  He  deserves  it 
all,  and  more  than  he1!!  ever  get.  He's  a  disgrace  to  the 
craft!  I  remember  that  speech.  He  got  a  deal  of  credit 
for  his  courage  in  reporting  it,  and  now  it  turns  out  he 
wasn't  there  at  all;  it  was  just  a  'fake'  of  the  thinnest 
sort." 

"As  I  was  saying,"  continued  Searle,  "  the  stranger  did 
not  give  them  any  time  to  recover  from  their  surprise. 
Calling  three  or  four  of  the  leaders  by  name,  he  told  them 
if  they  did  not  wish  to  be  prosecuted  for  murder,  and 
really  wanted  to  gain  the  object  of  the  strike,  to  pick  up 
the  president  and  take  him  into  the  office.  The  rest  he 
ordered  to  disperse  at  once.  Then  he  turned  his  back 
on  them  and  helped  bring  Tabor  in. 

"  Well,  they  obeyed  him ;  carried  Tabor  as  tenderly  as 
if  he  had  been  a  baby,  and  dispersed  without  having  done 
any  harm  and  in  reasonably  good-humor.  It  was  one  of 
the  finest  things  I  ever  knew.  Before  we  realized  what 
he  had  done  the  man  was  gone.  The  matter  attracted 
no  attention  because  he  made  no  fuss  about  it;  but  I 
doubt  if  there  is  another  man  in  the  city  who  could  have 
done  it.  That  night  a  thousand  dollars  was  put  in  the 
hands  of  a  select  committee  of  the  strikers,  to  be  used 
for  the  benefit  of  needy  families.  None  of  them  would 
tell,  if  they  knew,  where  it  came  from,  but  everybody  at 
tributed  it  to  the  man  who  had  headed  off  the  mob.  As 
you  will  remember,  in  a  few  days  the  strike  was  settled. 
The  settlement  was  in  the  main  due  to  the  letters  of  this 
man  to  the  board  of  directors,  and  also  to  the  committee 


I  72  MURV'ALE   EASTMAX. 

of  the  strikers — plain,  business-like,  sensible  letters,  which 
made  it  easy  for  the  two  parties  to  deal  with  each 
other. 

"  Now,  the  funny  thing  about  it  all  is  that  nobody  could 
find  this  man  Merrill.  The  police  hunted  for  him.  the 
company  advertised  for  him,  and  I  spent  some  time  my 
self  in  trying  to  get  on  his  track.  The  men  thought  he 
was  a  workman,  and  got  his  money  from  the  company; 
the  company  thought  him  a  business  man  and  a  philan 
thropist.  The  police,  I  think,  concluded  he  was  a  myth. 
As  for  me,  I  was  much  nearer  the  truth  than  any  of 
them." 

"What  did  you  take  him  to  be?"  asked  Flagler  inter 
estedly. 

"  Well,  after  I  had  hunted  down  all  the  Merrills  in  the 
city,  and  found  none  of  them  filled  the  bill,  I  was  satisfied 
that  he  was  working  under  an  alias  and  concluded  that  he 
must  be — a  reporter!  " 

A  mingled  chorus  of  groans  and  laughter  greeted  this 
announcement. 

"Who  solved  the  riddle  finally?1'  asked  the  irrepressi 
ble  Jones,  when  the  clamor  attending  Searle's  last  state 
ment  had  subsided. 

"  Nobody,"  answered  Searle  quietly,  "  it  solved  itself. 
Tabor  had  a  letter  from  the  stranger  the  other  day,  saying 
that  if  agreeable  he  would  like  to  see  the  members  of 
the  board  of  directors  at  their  regular  monthly  meeting. 
Of  course  it  was  agreeable,  and  it  was  to  report  this  meet 
ing  that  Tabor  sent  for  me  to-day.  The  board  meets  at 
twelve  o'clock,  and  promptly  at  that  hour,  into  the  room 
where  they  sat  expectant  in  all  the  dignity  of  corporate 
power,  came  one  of  the  company's  drivers!  Tabor  knew 
him  only  as  '  Number  Forty-six,'  a  driver  who  had  attracted 


TOO   NATURAL   FOR    k' REALISM"  173 

some  attention  by  the  fact  that  he  took  a  man's  place 
who  was  hurt  by  the  strikers,  and  sent  his  earnings  to  the 
disabled  man's  family. 

"  But  despite  the  colored  glasses  which  he  wore,  I  recog 
nized  him  at  a  glance  as  the  mysterious  Merrill.  As  1 
told  you,  Tabor  had  laid  himself  out  for  a  surprise-party 
on  his  own  hypothesis  that  the  unknown  was  some  mil 
lionaire  philanthropist  who  had  a  pet  theory  about  labor 
and  capital  which  he  wished  to  ventilate.  You  may 
guess  the  surprise  was  on  his  side  when  he  found  that  the 
man  to  whom  he  owed  his  life,  and  to  whom  the  company 
were  indebted  for  the  saving  of  its  property,  was  one  of 
their  own  drivers,  whom  he  had  last  met  as  a  member  of 
a  committee  of  conference,  sent  by  the  employees  to 
urge  some  further  concessions  on  the  company's  part. 
The  president  was  a  little  confused  at  first,  but  made  his 
acknowledgments  handsomely,  both  on  his  own  behalf 
and  for  the  company,  and  then  asked  what  they  could  do 
to  further  express  their  gratitude,  anticipating  any  request 
he  might  make  by  the  statement  that  he  was  just  the  kind 
of  a  man  they  wanted  in  their  employ,  and  if  there  was 
no  suitable  vacancy,  they  would  make  one  for  him.  He 
concluded  by  asking  the  man  plumply  if  he  would  take 
the  place  of  assistant  superintendent,  an  office  he  was 
sure  the  board  would  gladly  create  in  order  to  testify 
their  appreciation  of  his  services.  All  the  other  members 
made  haste  to  give  their  approval  to  Tabor's  bright,  off 
hand  proposal;  which  was  not  strange,  for  the  man  had 
as  little  self-consciousness  as  if  he  had  been  in  such  august 
company  all  his  life.  He  thanked  them  pleasantly ;  said 
he  was  glad  to  have  served  them  acceptably,  but,  as  he 
was  about  to  leave  their  employ  he  had  come,  not  to  ask 
anything  for  himself,  but  if  they  would  not  consider  it  an 


174  MVRTALE  EASTMAN. 

intrusion,  to  have  a  few  moments'   talk  with  them  about 
the  strike  an.d  things  connected  with  it. 

"  Of  course  they  could  not  refuse  so  modest  a  request, 
and  Tabor  very  heartily  insisted  that  he  must  not  think 
of  leaving — the  company  could  not  permit  it — they  stood 
ready  to  offer  a  salary  which  would  make  it  impossible 
for  him  to  r-jfuse. 

"  The  man  thanked  them  again,  and  said  that  if  he 
was  at  liberty  to  consult  his  own  preferences  he  would 
like  nothing  better  than  to  accept  the  proposal  they  had 
made.  It  was  just  the  sort  of  work  he  would  like,  but,  he 
added  with  a  smile,  he  had  another  job  on  hand  just  now. 
which  it  would  be  impossible  to  relinquish,  for  a  time, 
at  least,  so  he  would  be  obliged  to  decline  their  very  flat 
tering  offer.  Tabor  insisted  on  knowing  what  the  job 
was,  and  the  young  man,  taking  out  a  neat  card-case, 
handed  him  one  of  his  cards.  It  was  better  than  a  play 
to  see  Tabor  and  his  associates  as  they  passed  that  card 
from  one  to  another.  At  the  same  time  the  young  man 
removed  his  glasses,  and  there,  disguised  only  by  the  ab 
sence  of  the  mustache  he  has  always  worn,  stood  the  Rev 
erend  Murvale  Eastman!  " 

Despite  the  fact  that  some  revelation  concerning  the 
pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  had  been  promised  at  the  out 
set,  this  announcement  created  a  genuine  surprise  among 
the  little  group  of  hardened  caterers  for  the  newsmonger 
ing  public. 

"  Had  he  really  been  driving  a  horse  car?  "  asked  Bur 
rows  as  soon  as  he  recovered  his  breath. 

"  Every  day  except  Sundays  for  a  month  or  more,''  an 
swered  Searle.  "  I've  seen  his  time-cards,  regularly 
punched  and  canceled,  on  file  at  the  superintendent's 
office.'' 


TOO  NATURAL  FOR  "  REALISM."  175 

"Well,  I  vow!"  exclaimed  Jones. 

"  Think  of  it,  fellows !"  continued  Searle ;  "  here  the  man 
has  gone  by  this  very  office  from  four  to  six  times  a  day, 
on  the  front  end  of  a  car,  carrying  his  parishioners  back 
and  forth,  and  not  one  of  them  has  recognized  him. 
While  others  were  studying  the  strike  from  the  outside, 
he  went  to  work  and  studied  it  from  the  inside." 

"  He's  certainly  a  brick,"  said  Marsh.  "  I'm  almost 
willing  to  forgive  him  for  being  in  love  with  Lily  Kishu." 

"  What  is  that  to  you,  sauce-box?  "  asked  Flagler,  play 
fully  snapping  the  ears  of  the  young  jester. 

"What  is  it  tome?  Why,  I'm  jealous — if  you  must 
know.  You  see,  I  intend  to  marry  her  myself." 

"You  do!" 

"  Nothing  less,  Grumpy." 

"  Why,  you  dunce,  Wilton  Kishu  wouldn't  look  at  you!  " 

"  I  don't  want  him  to ;  it's  his  daughter  I  want  to  look 
at  me.  But  you're  mistaken  there.  Td  make  a  much 
better  son-in-law  than  this  man  Eastman  with  his  new 
fangled  notions.  All  Kishu  would  have  to  do  with  me 
would  be  to  stick  a  check  under  my  plate  every  Monday 
morning — just  a  reasonably  fair  allowance,  you  know — 
and  I  wouldn't  be  a  bit  'more  trouble  for  a  week.  He 
needs  something  docile  and  ornamental — just  in  my  line, 
you  see." 

"  Oh,  shut  up,  rattle-pate,"  said  Jones.  "  You  know 
there's  no  more  chance  of  your  marrying  Lilian  Kishu  than 
if  she  were  the  daughter  of  the  Grand  Mogul." 

"Isn't,  eh?  Now,  see  here,  I'll  bet  you  a  supper  for 
the  crowd  I  marry  her  before  you  get  back  from  your 
European  trip.  What  do  you  say?  " 

"  Don't  be  silly,  Marsh,"  said  Mather  reprovingly. 
"  You  go  too  far  in  your  foolery  sometimes." 


176  MURVAI.E    EASTMAX. 

"  Do  you  take  the  bet?" 

"  No,  sonny.  I  don't  want  your  money,  but  I'll  get  you 
a  pass  to  San  Francisco  and  back  on  the  wedding  journey, 
whenever  she  consents." 

"Shake!"  said  the  young  fellow,  springing  up  and  ex 
tending  his  hand.  "  That's  one  of  the  things  that  troubled 
me.  It  wouldn't  do,  you  know,  to  go  half  across  the  con 
tinent  and  get  stuck.  I've  always  thought  a  wedding 
journey  in  two  sections  would  be— well,  rather  unsatis 
factory,  you  know." 

"  But  how  did  the  Reverend  Car-driver  get  on  with  the 
board?"  asked  Flagler,  again  suppressing  Marsh. 

"Just  as  well  as  he  did  with  the  men,"  answered  Searle, 
"and  for  the  same  reason — he  did  not  assume  anything. 
He  merely  said  that  for  a  month  he  had  associated  with 
the  drivers,  boarding  with  them,  working  with  them,  and 
studying  their  actual  relations  to  the  labor  they  performed, 
to  their  employers,  and  to  society.  He  did  not  propose 
to  teach  the  board  their  duties — did  not  assume  to  know 
what  they  ought  to  do.  He  merely  desired  to  suggest 
some  things  that  had  occurred  to  him  during  his  month 
or  more  of  association  and  service  with  the  company's 
employees." 

"  What  were  his  notions  on  that  subject?  "  asked  Ma 
ther,  the  eldest  of  the  company.  "  In  view  of  his  recent 
pulpit-utterances,  it  would  be  very  interesting  to  know  his 
views  on  such  practical  subjects.  I  suppose  he  dealt  in 
glittering  generalities  of  the  gushy  Gospel  sort,  which 
ministers  insist  should  regulate  the  relations  of  Labor  and 
Capital?" 

"On  the  contrary,"  replied  Searle,  "his  views  were  the 
plainest  common-sense,  expressed  in  the  fewest  possible 
words.  He  said  he  supposed  the  purpose  of  the  com- 


TOO  NATURAL   FOR   « REALISM.  177 

pany  was  to  make  the  most  out  of  its  investment  during 
the  whole  time  of  its  charter  with  the  least  risk  of  loss, 
and  that  the  object  of  its  employees  was  to  get  as  good 
wages  as  they  could  with  steady  and  reliable  employment. 
Tabor  graciously  assented,  with  the  trite  remark  that  '  the 
interest  of  the  employer  and  the  employed  is  always  the 
same.'  '  Number  Forty-six '  quietly  replied  that  he  doubted 
the  truth  of  that  idea,  and  that  if  true  at  all,  it  required 
one  definition  of  the  term  '  interest '  in  its  application  to 
the  employer,  and  an  entirely  different  one  in  its  applica 
tion  to  the  laborer.  The  '  interest '  of  the  employer  was 
to  pay  the  lowest  rate  of  wages,  and  the  'interest'  of  the 
laborer  was  to  get  the  highest  rate  of  wages.  This  was 
using  the  term  'interest'  in  the  same  significance  as  to 
both,  and  these  two  interests  were  diametrically  opposed 
to  each  other  and  could  never  be  reconciled:  it  was  the 
'  interest '  represented  solely  by  the  company's  pay-roll. 
There  was  another  sort  of  interest,  applying  partly  to  the 
individual  stockholders  and  partly  relating  to  the  compar 
ative  reliability  and  efficiency  of  labor.  The  charter  had 
yet,  he  said,  twenty  years  to  run.  The  company  could 
not  afford  to  lose  two  weeks  out  of  each  year,  nor  one 
week  even.  Certainty  of  operation  was  not  only  legally, 
but  economically  important  to  them." 

"  He  was  right  there,"  interposed  Mather. 

"  Of  course.  So  too,  he  said,  efficiency,  carefulness, 
and  good-will  on  the  part  of  their  employees  were  import 
ant  in  various  ways — tending  to  certainty  of  service, 
security  of  property,  care  of  material,  and  also  to  promote 
the  popularity  of  the  line.  The  hostility  of  their  employ 
ees  might,  as  they  had  seen  during  the  strike,  result  in  al 
most  irreparable  damage  to  their  property.  But  mere 
lack  of  personal  interest  constantly  tended  to  impair  the 

12 


178  MURVALE  EASTMAK. 

value  of  the  plant  and  lessen  the  popularity  of  the  line. 
He  might  be  mistaken,  he  said,  but  he  thought  if  a  per 
sonal  interest  and  pride  in  the  line  they  served  could  be 
awakened  in  their  employees,  it  would  result  in  increased 
patronage.  Competition  was  constantly  increasing;  and 
attractiveness,  regard  for  the  comfort  and  convenience  of 
their  patrons,  he  thought,  would  constitute  a  material  ele 
ment  of  advantage  to  the  road. 

"  One  of  the  board  remarked  there  was  no  use  of  try 
ing  to  interest  the  employees  in  the  company's  business 
— all  they  cared  for  was  to  make  as  much  as  they  could 
out  of  the  company,  and  do  as  little  as  they  could  for  the 
money.  Tabor  promptly  backed  this  up  by  saying  that 
if  they  could  keep  their  men  from  stealing  they  would  be 
satisfied. 

"  I  expected  to  see  the  minister  fly  off  the  handle  at 
this;  but  he  didn't.  To  my  surprise  he  admitted  that  if 
all  restrictions  were  at  once  removed,  the  company  would 
probably  lose  money;  but  he  thought  it  largely  a  matter 
of  training.  Give  a  man  a  bad  name,  he  said,  and  every 
body  knew  he  was  apt  to  deserve  it  sooner  or  later.  He 
had  no  doubt  that  suspicion  on  the  part  of  the  employer 
was  one  of  the  most  fruitful  causes  of  the  dishonesty 
on  the  part  'of  employees.  There  were  a  good  many 
others,  however,  and,  he  had  no  doubt,  an  immediate  and 
sweeping  change  of  policy  would  be  dangerous  to  the 
company.  Yet  he  could  not  resist  the  conviction  that, 
by  wise  methods,  the  men  might  come  to  have  an  actual 
pride  in  their  service  and  a  sincere  regard  for  the  com 
pany's  interests.  At  the  same  time,  the  company  might 
come  to  have  a  pride  and  interest  in  their  employees  also 
— a  state  of  feeling  which  he  thought  would  be  advanta 
geous  to  both,  just  as  the  humane  and  enlightened  policy 


TOO   NATURAL    FOR   "REALISM:'  179 

of  the  company  in  regard  to  its  horses  had  proved  profita 
ble  as  well  as  creditable. 

"This  was  hitting  Tabor  in  a  tender  place,  and  he 
came  down  as  gracefully  as  a  winged  duck.  From  that 
time  on  it  was  easy  to  see  that  he  had  a  soft  side  for  the 
parson's  ideas.  After  a  while  Murchison,  who  had  all 
along  been  inclined  to  think  Tabor's  gratitude  a  little  too 
spontaneous,  and  had  a  sneaking  notion  that  it  was  he 
who  furnished  the  money  to  the  strikers,  blandly  inquired: 

" '  If  it  is  not  impertinent,  Mr.  Eastman,  may  I  ask  if 
you  know  anything  about  the  thousand  dollars  that  was 
paid  the  strikers  for  not  burning  our' property  and  mur 
dering  the  president  of  this  company?  ' 

"  '  I  know  something  of  a  sum  that  was  given  to  aid  the 
suffering  families  of  men  who  had  been  a  long  time  out 
of  work.' 

"'You  are  sure  it  was  so  applied,  I  suppose?'  said 
Murchison,  with  a  close  approach  to  a  sneer  in  his  tone. 

"  '  I  ?,m  ;  for  I  directed  that  only  necessaries  should  be 
purchased,  and  I  have  received  the  tradesman's  bills  for 
nearly  every  dollar  of  it,  with  the  name  of  the  family  to 
which  each  parcel  was  delivered.' 

"'  I  suppose  you  would  have  no  objection  to  telling  us 
from  whom  you  received  this  money? ' 

" '  I  cannot  see  that  it  makes  any  difference  to  you,' 
said  the  minister  with  a  look  of  surprise,  '  or  what  interest 
you  can  have  in  that  fact.' 

'* '  Oh,  of  course,  a  man  of  your  profession  must  exercise 
prudence.' 

"  '  Prudence?     I  do  not  understand  you,  sir!  * 

" '  Certainly — not  let  the  left  hand  know  what  the  right 
does,  you  see.' 

"  Murchison,  who   is   a   cad  with   money,  shrugged   his 


180  MVRVALE  EASTMAN. 

shoulders  and  winked  at  Tabor,  who  is  a  gentleman  despite 
his  money.  Tabor  flushed  and  said : 

"  '  Mr.  Eastman,  you  will  remove  some  misapprehension 
among  the  members  of  the  board  if  you  will  kindly  tell 
us  whose  money  it  was  you  dispensed  in  this  manner.' 

"  '  Why — my  own,'  said  the  honest  fellow,  blushing  like 
a  schoolboy. 

"  I  think  I  never  heard  so  spontaneous  a  round  of  ap 
plause  as  the  little  company  gave  this  declaration.  Tabor 
trotted  over  and  shook  hands  with  him  again,  and  the 
rest  followed  suit,  he  all  the  while  protesting  that  it  was 
not  a  matter  worth  mentioning. 

"  '  I'm  just  as  much  obliged  as  any  one,'  said  Murchison, 
'but  I  can't  quite  understand  why  you  gave  a  thousand 
dollars  to  save  property  you  have  no  interest  in.' 

"'Ah,  I  didn't  give  it  to  save  your  property,'  said  East 
man,  with  a  smile. 

"  '  What  did  you  give  it  for,  then?  ' 

"'I  hardly  know.' 

" '  Not  mere  charity,  of  course,  for  there  are  always 
people  who  need  help  just  as  much  and  probably  more 
than  these  did.' 

"  '  Very  likely,'  replied  Eastman. 

" '  Then  why  did  you  give  it?  '  asked  Murchison,  puffing 
out  his  cheeks  like  a  big  toad,  and  looking  around  as  if  he 
had  the  divine  on  the  hip. 

"'It  would  be  hard  to  tell  all  the  reasons,' answered 
the  young  man  candidly.  '  I  certainly  did  not  do  it  for  the 
sake  of  the  company,  nor  entirely  for  the  sake  of  the  men 
or  their  families;  but  I  had  a  feeling  that  this  money, 
which  I  had  laid  by  for  the  expense  of  a  summer  trip  and 
refitting  my  yacht,  would  not  only  do  more  good,  but  give 
me  more  satisfaction,  if  used  in  that  way  than  in  any 


TOO    XATL'RAL    FOR    "REALISM."  181 

other;  and  I  think  it  did.  It  probably  prevented  some 
crime  and  inclined  both  parties  to  the  settlement  which 
came  afterward/ 

"  '  You  expect  to  get  it  back,  I  suppose,'  said  Murchison. 

"  '  I  have  no  doubt  the  men  would  repay  me  if  I  should 
ask  them,  or  even  if  they  knew  I  had  given  it,  but  I  hope 
to  get  my  pay  in  another  way,'  answered  Eastman  with  a 
smile. 

" '  You  expected  the  company  to  foot  the  bill,  eh? ' 

"  Then  the  minister's  face  flushed  and  his  eyes  had  an 
ominous  gleam  in  them ;  but  he  kept  his  temper  and  re 
plied: 

" ( I  had  no  idea  of  receiving  one  penny  from  the  com 
pany,  directly  or  indirectly.' 

"'Indeed!'  said  Murchison  incredulously ;  'then  how 
did  you  expect  to  get  your  money  back? ' 

" '  I  did  not  expect  to  get  it  back,  but  I  thought  I  had 
never  done  anything  in  my  life  toward  helping  to  solve 
the  most  difficult  problem  of  our  time — the  relation  be 
tween  the  man  who  works  for  a  living  and  the  man  who/ 
hires  for  profit.  I  did  not  want  to  see  it  go  on  from  bad 
to  worse,  and  wait  until  it  was  solved  by  violence  and 
blood.  I  think  God  has  given  us  brains  and  hearts  on 
purpose  that  we  may  apply  reason  and  justice  to  such 
difficulties  and  find  a  cure  for  them.  I  was  afraid  if  I 
did  not  do  what  I  did  there  would  be  more  trouble.  So 
I  gave,  in  the  first  place,  to  prevent  farther  difficulty;  in 
the  second  place,  in  the  hope  that  it  might  open  the  way 
for  a  better  state  of  things.  I  can  hardly  expect  you  to 
understand,  sir.1 

"  There  was  the  slightest  possible  emphasis  upon  the 
pronoun. 

" '  Well,  I  do.n't,  that's  a  fact,'  replied  Murchison   dog- 


1 82  MURVALE   F.ASTMAX. 

gedly.  '  But  I'm  glad  you  did  it,  all  the  same,  and  as  we 
received  the  benefit  of  your  action  I  think  the  company 
ought  to  make  it  up  to  you.' 

"'The  company  cannot  pay  me — not  a  farthing! '  said 
Eastman  emphatically.  'But,'  he  added  after  a  moment's 
pause,  "'  if  they  choose  to  allow  me  to  direct  the  appropri 
ation  of  a  thousand  dollars  of  their  money,  through  Mr. 
Temple  here,'  with  a  gesture  toward  the  superintendent, 
'  they  will  please  me  very  much  more  than  the  return  of 
the  money  could,  and  I  think  I  can  promise  that  it  will 
be  a  good  investment  for  them.' 

"  This  was  at  once  agreed  to. 

"  '  Now,  what  will  you  do  with  it?  '  asked  Murchison. 

" '  I  should  want  to  consult  Mr.  Temple  about  the  de 
tails,'  replied  Mr.  Eastman,  ;  but  the  first  thing  I  would 
do  would  be  to  pay  for  extra  clerk  hire,  enough  to  keep 
the  men's  accounts  in  their  own  names  and  not  by  num 
bers.  A  number  does  very  well  for  a  horse,  and  in  prisons 
men  are  so  designated,  though  it  is  doubtful  if  there  is 
any  legal  right  to  deprive  even  a  convict  of  his  name.  It 
is  a  mark  of  degradation,  and  does  not  incline  one  thus 
treated  to  be  manly.  I  was  not  proud  of  being  called 
"  Number  Forty-six,''  though  it  served  my  purpose  well 
enough.  It  never  does  a  man  any  good  to  lessen  his  self- 
respect.' 

"'You  are  right,  Mr.  Eastman,'  said  Tabor  enthusias 
tically.  *  Mr.  Temple  spoke  to  me  about  it  this  morning, 
and  I  told  him  it  must  be  stopped  at  once.  That  won't 
cost  anything ;  you  must  find  other  use  for  the  money.' 

" '  If  it  can  be  done  without  interfering  with  your  con 
venience,'  said  Eastman  hesitantly,  '  I  would  be  glad  if 
you  could  arrange,  here  at  the  stables,  a  comfortable  wait 
ing-room  for  the  men,  and  keep  hot  coffee  or  bouillon  for 


TOO   XATURAL    FOR  •" REALISM."  183 

them  at  night,  and  during  cold  weather  by  day  also,  for  a 
year,  or  long  enough  to  note  the  effect  at  least.  The 
brewers  give  their  men  all  the  beer  they  can  drink,  and 
find  it  pays  in  the  added  interest  they  take  in  their  work, 
I  suppose.  I  don't  know  as  you  would  get  any  positive 
advantage  from  it,  but  I  think  it  would  keep  some  of  the 
men  from  going  to  the  grog-shop  to  warm  up.  I'd  like 
to  see  it  tried,  anyhow.' 

"  This  was  assented  to.  The  superintendent  said  an  old 
harness-room  could  be  fitted  up  for  the  purpose  at  little 
expense.  They  concluded  that  four  hundred  dollars 
would  cover  the  cost. 

"  '  Now,  what  will  you  do  with  the  rest?  '  asked  Tabor. 

"  '  Really,  gentlemen,'  said  Eastman  cheerfully,  '  I  had 
no  idea  so  much  could  be  done  with  so  little  money.  I 
don't  know — would  it  be  too  much  to  ask  you  to  make 
the  balance  a  sort  of  guaranty  fund  for  some  experiments?  ' 

"  '  Of  what  sort?  '  asked  Murchison,  not  over-pleasantly. 
'  We're  not  fond  of  experiments.' 

" '  I  suppose  not ;  and  I  don't  believe  I  know  enough 
about  the  business  of  the  company  to  define  what  I  would 
do  clearly.  I  think  the  board  might  devise  some  plan  if 
they  thought  well  of  the  idea.' 

1 1  If    you    will    explain '  said    Tabor  as    Eastman 

paused. 

" '  What  I  had  thought  of  is,  whether  it  would  not  be 
better  to  institute  a  scheme  of  rewards  for  good  conduct, 
instead  of  penalties  for  bad  conduct.  It  seems  to  me 
it  might  be  made  more  effective — more  profitable,  I  mean.' 

" '  That's  not  a  bad  idea,'  said  Murchison,  quite  molli 
fied  by  the  minister's  deference. 

' '  Of  course,  it  needs  thought  and  experience  to  devise 
such  a  system,  Then,  too,  if  you  could  give  some  public 


184  MURVALE   EAST  MAY. 

recognition  to  your  employees.  I  have  wondered,  gentle 
men,  if  it  would  not  be  a  good  notion— -good  policy,  I 
mean — to  give  them  the  proceeds  of  one  day  in  each 

year call  it  Employees'  Day ;  just  divide  it  among  them 

on  some  fair  plan — service  and  good  behavior  during  the 
year  being  taken  into  consideration.' 

"  '  The  whole  day's  receipts,  you  mean?  '  asked  Tabor. 

" '  The  whole  or  such  part  as  you  could  afford.  The 
whole  would  be  a  little  more  than  one-fourth  of  one  per 
cent,  of  your  gross  receipts.  I  think — of  course,  it  is  only 
an  opinion — that  the  good-will  of  the  men  would  add  that 
amount  to  your  yearly  aggregate.' 

"There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  Tabor  burst 
out  in  his  impetuous  way: 

"  '  I  say,  gentlemen,  let's  try  it !  Let's  give  them  Christ 
mas  Day! ' 

" '  It  would  be  a  new  style  of  Santa  Clans,'  said  the 
minister  laughingly,  though  the  tears  glistened  in  his  eyes, 
'  but  I  can  think  of  none  that  would  bring  joy  to  more 
homes,  or  more  fully  illustrate  the  "  good-will  among  men  " 
which  should  prevail  at  that  season.  I  believe  if  you 
should  do  it,  you  would  find  that  thousands  of  people 
would  ride  that  day  just  to  add  a  nickel  to  your  generous 
Christmas  gift ;  and  the  added  patronage,  I  am  sure, 
would  make  you  whole  during  the  next  year;  besides  the 
good  you  would  accomplish  by  a  commendable  example 
and  a  practical  step  toward  the  solution  of  the  labor 
problem.' 

"  Queer  as  it  seems,  it  was  agreed  to.  The  Belt  and 
Cross-Cut  will  divide  its  receipts  on  Christmas  Day  equally 
between  those  who  have  been  in  its  service  a  year,  and 
proportionately  to  those  who  have  been  with  it  a  less 
time,  without  regard  to  rank,  pay.  or  duties.  • 


TOO   NATURAL   FOR   "REALISM."  185 

"  When  it  was  all  arranged  by  a  unanimous  vote,  East 
man  quite  broke  down,  and  all  the  rest  of  us,  to  tell  the 
truth,  had  the  worst  kind  of  colds.  As  soon  as  he  could 
pull  himself  together,  he  said,  laughing  and  wiping  a  sus 
picious  moisture  from  his  eyes  at  the  same  time. 

"' Well,  gentlemen — I — I— can't  thank  you — but— I'll 
relinquish  all  claim  on  that  other  six  hundred  dollars.' 

"  Then  one  of  the  trustees  moved  a  vote  of  thanks  to 
him,  and  Tabor  suggested  that  we  all  adjourn  to  the  St. 
Nicholas  Restaurant  for  lunch.  Temple  had  stolen  away 
in  the  mean  time,  and  when  we  came  out  into  the  yard, 
there  was  Kennedy  with  the  stable-hands  and  clerks  ready 
to  cheer  the  board,  the  Reverend  Eastman,  and  '  Number 
Forty-six!  ' 

"  I  don't  know  when  I've  seen  as  pleasant  a  company 
as  we  had  at  that  lunch,  nor  a  man  that  I  think  has  done 
so  much  practical  good  in  a  month  as  Murvale  Eastman. 
He  means  just  what  he  says,  boys,  and  I'll  tell  you  what, 
if  he's  going  to  run  the  Golden  Lilies  on  that  line,  I'll 
be — hem!  blamed — if  I  don't  join  the  church!  " 

When  the  laugh  that  greeted  this  vehement  announce 
ment  had  died  away,  Jones  rose  and  said  in  lugubrious 
accents: 

"  Won't  some  fellow  here  please — kick — me!  " 

"  Never  mind,  Jonesey,"  said  Marsh,  "  we'll  change 
works.  I'll  kick  you  for  maligning  one  of  the  few  good 
men  in  the  city,  and  you  shall  kick  me  for  proposing  to 
run  away  with  his  girl!  " 

"I'll  kick  you  if  you  do,  you  graceless  cub!1'  said 
Mather  as  he  returned  his  handkerchief  to  his  pocket. 

"You  ought  to,  perhaps,  but  being  in  the  conspiracy,  I 
don't  see  how  you  consistently  could.  I've  a  premonition 
I  shall  have  to  do  it  for  the  public  good.  Such  a  man 


1 86  ML'RyALE   EASTMAN. 

ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  marry.  It  would  be  a  public 
misfortune.  Besides,  a  man  of  such  serious  views  of  life 
wouldn't  suit  Miss  Lilian.  She  isn't  made  for  such  things. 
She's  as  good  as  gold;  but  she  was  made  to  enjoy,  not  to 
suffer.  Such  a  man  would  kill  her,  just  by  shutting  out 
the  sunshine! '' 

"  See  here,  boy,  how  do  you  come  to  know  so  much 
about  Miss  Lilian  Kishu?"  asked  Searle  rather  sharply. 

"•How  do  I  know  her?  Why,  we  were  kids  together," 
replied  Marsh.  "  She'd  have  been  my  sweetheart  instead 
of  Eastman's  if  Father  Kishu  hadn't  been  so  rich  or  I  so 
poor.  You  see,  Eastman  will  be  rich  when  his  aunt  dies, 
and  at  any  rate  is  distinguished.  Father  Kishu  wants 
money  or  distinction  in  a  son-in-law,  and  unfortunately  I 
have  only  good  looks  and  the  sweetest  of  tempers.  These 
just  suit  a  wife,  but  they're  no  sort  of  good  to  catch  a 
father-in-law  with." 

There  was  a  call  on  the  speaking-tube. 

"  You're  wanted  up-stairs,  Searle,"  said  Mather,  who  an 
swered  it. 

"  Well,  good-by,  fellows,"  said  Searle  as  he  rose  to  go. 
"  We've  had  some  pleasant  times  here,  and  I  hope  you'll 
miss  me  sometimes." 

"  Miss  you?     What  do  you  mean?  "  echoed  the  others. 

"  I  shall  be  managing  editor  to-morrow/' 

"Of  the  Breeze V 

"  It  is  not  settled  yet  whether  it  will  be  the  Breeze  or 
the  Thunderbolt" 

"I  hope  it  will  be  the  Breeze  for  all  our  sakes,"  said 
Mather  earnestly.  "  The  '  old  man '  ought  to  let  go. 
He's  had  his.  hand  on  the  tiller  for  a  good  many  years ; 
lifted  the  Breeze  from  practical  insolvency  up  into  the 
millions,  and  he  ought  to  retire.  It's  all  nonsense  for  a 


TOO   NATURAL   FOR   "  RKALISM"  187 

man  to  go  on  killing  himself  after  he's  got  more  than 
enough." 

"  That's  exactly  what  Eastman  says  is  the  disease  of  our 
time — going  on  acquiring  after  we  have  more  than  we  can 
use  or  enjoy,  just  as  the  ancients  used  to  fill  up,  take  an 
emetic,  and  go  on  eating  afterward  for  mere  gustatory 
gratification." 

"  He  seems  to  have  filled  you  with  his  ideas,  anyhow," 
said  Mather,  smiling. 

"  But  they  are  not  his  ideas,  as  you  have  just  shown. 
They  are  yours,  mine,  everybody's  who  feels  the  pinch  of 
modern  civilization.  The  only  thing  that  is  his  about  the 
matter  is  the  curious  remedy  he  proposes." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  He  says  that  if  the  Church  would  stop  worshiping 
money  and  let  the  world  know  that  it  regards  the  need 
less  amassing  of  wealth  as  just  ay' unmanly  and  unworthy 
as  an  over-engorgement  of  food,  that  would  soon  become 
as  unpopular  as  gluttony  is  among  people  of  refined 
tastes." 

"That  is  an  idea!" 

"  It  will  bear  thinking  about,"  said  Searle. 

He  went  out  and  the  doors  swung  slowly  together  after 
him.  The  roar  of  the  great  engines  in  the  basement  shook 
the  building.  Across  the  street  they  could  see  the  work 
men  in  the  composing-room  of  the  Thunderbolt  rolling 
down  their  sleeves  and  putting  on  their  coats.  The  rec 
ord  of  one  day's  doings  was  complete.  The  great  world 
slept,  unconscious  of  the  events  the  morrow  would  bring 
— unconscious  of  what  the  day  itself  had  brought.  In 
a  few. hours  the  newsboy's  cry  of  "Breeze  !"  "Thunder 
bolt!*"1  will  awaken  again  the'restless  yearning  of  to-day 
to  learn  of  yesterday's  peccadillos.  Then  they  will  find 


1 8 8  MURVAL E  /-A  iSTMAN. 

how  faithfully  these  chroniclers  of  fact  and  fancy,  storm 
and  sunshine,  have  catered  to  their  desires. 


CHAPTER    XVII. 

A    DEVIOUS    WAY. 

"How  do  you  do?" 

Lilian  Kishu  started  from  a  reverie  and  looked  up  into 
the  bronzed  face  of  a  plainly-dressed  workman  who  stood 
in  her  path.  Her  great  blue  eyes  opened  wide,  and  the 
smile  which  had  been  upon  her  face  as  she  walked  in  the 
balmy  autumn  sunshine  across  Garden  Square  faded  out 
as  she  heard  the  salutation  and  recognized  the  speaker. 

"  Why,  Murvale!  "  she  exclaimed,  "how  you  frightened 
me!" 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  the  young  man,  "  I  only  meant 
to  give  you  a  surprise." 

"What  is— that?  "/  she  asked,  pointing  to  the  tin  pail 
he  carried,  and  looking  him  over  coolly  as  she  spoke. 

"  That  ?  That  is  my  dinner-pail."  he  answered  with 
a  comical  look,  holding  it  up  for  her  inspection.  She  did 
not  seem  to  share  his  gayety. 

"  Do  you  take  your  dinner  along  when  you  go  out  for  a 
walk?"  she  asked  with  a  constrained  little  laugh. 

"  Not  any  more,  dear.  This  is  only  a  relic — a  sacred 
relic,"  he  answered  gravely. 

"A  relic!     Of  what?" 

"  Of  the  age  of  wonders." 

"Indeed?     Has  it  any  miraculous  qualities?"    • 

"  It  is  a  thaumaturgic  marvel." 

"  You  don't  say!     What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it?  " 


A   DEVIOUS    n\IY.  '189 

"A  relic  should  have  a  shrine — especially  a  relic  having 
the  power  of  working  miracles — and  I  am  going  to  place 
this  in  the  shrine  of  the  Golden  Lilies — hang  it  over  the 
desk  in  the  study,  you  know." 

"  Why  not  suspend  it  above  the  pulpit?"  she  asked. 
There  was  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  her  tone. 

"  I  had  thought  of  doing  so,"  he  answered,  gazing  rev 
erently  at  the  long,  square  can  with  its  tin  cup,  fitting 
bottom  upward  on  the  cover,  as  he  spoke.  It  had  a  num 
ber  of  dents,  though  it  had  evidently  not  been  long  in  use. 

"  It  would  be  so  very  decorative !  "  she  said  with  a  de 
risive  laugh. 

"  Relics  are  not  always  ornamental,"  he  rejoined.  "  I 
think  it  would  do  me  good,  and  my  hearers,  too,  per 
haps." 

"  It  would  harmonize  so  well  with  the  rest  of  the  inte 
rior!" 

"  I  do  not  think  it  would  be  much  out  of  place." 

"You  don't?  A  ten-thousand-dollar  window  and  a  ten- 
cent  dinner-pail!  Only  think  of  the  combination!  " 

She  laughed  uneasily  and  her  eyes  scanned  his  face 
anxiously. 

"  Oh,  you  under-estimate  its  value,"  he  answered  in  the 
bantering  tone  she  had  assumed.  "  That  pail  cost  a  dol 
lar.  It  is  a  marvel  of  ingenuity  in  its  way;  a  luxury,  al 
most  an  extravagance,  to  the  workingman.  It  took  four 
trips  to  pay  for  that  pail." 

"  Trips?     What  do  you  mean?  " 

"Why,  don't  you  know?  But  of  course  you  don't. 
Let  us  go  over  to  the  church,  and  I  will  tell  yo.u  about  it." 

She  hesitated.  Her  face  was  flushed  and  there  was  an 
uneasy  look  in  her  eyes  as  she  regarded  her  companion  in 
his  unaccustomed  dress. 


190    •  Ml'RrAU-:  EASTMAN*. 

"What  does  this  masquerading  mean,  Murvale?  "  she 
asked  almost  tearfully. 

"  Come  and  I  will  tell  you." 

"  But  the  study  is  occupied." 

"Have  you  been  there?  That  was  very  kind."  He 
smiled  fondly  down  upon  her.  "We  will  not  disturb 
them.  I  will  only  leave  my  relic  there,  and  we  will  pass 
through  into  the  church.  It  seems  an  age  since  I  have 
seen  you." 

"  That  is  not  my  fault."     She  spoke  reproachfully. 

"  Nor  mine,"  he  rejoined  carelessly.     "  Come." 

He  dropped  his  dinner-pail  to  his  side  and  touched  her 
arm  lightly  with  his  left  hand.  She  turned,  half-unwil- 
lingly  it  seemed,  and  strolled  back  with  him  along  the  path 
across  the  park. 

"  Isn't  it  a  lovely  day?  "  he  asked  as  they  sauntered 
on.  He  drew  her  to  the  side  of  the  walk  where  the  wind 
had  heaped  up  the  yellow  leaves,  and  kicked  a  path  through 
them  as  he  went.  Everything  seemed  to  afford  him  de 
light. 

"  Yon.  seem  to  enjoy  it,"  she  said,  smiling  at  his  boyish 
abandon. 

"I  do,  I. do,  Lilian!"  he  exclaimed,  looking  at  her  with 
beaming  eyes.  "  I  believe  I  am  the  happiest  man  in 
the  world  to-day." 

"  Yes?  "  she  said  doubtfully.  "  Why "  She  looked 

up  at  him  timidly,  but  at  once  turned  away  her  eyes  and 
did  not  finish  the  inquiry.  She  did  not  know  that  he  had 
just  come  from  his  interview  with  the  managers  of  the 
Belt  and  Cross-Cut  Company,  and  that  the  joy  of  the 
successful  worker  for  others'  welfare  was  thrilling  his 
heart. 

"What  makes  me  so  happy  just  now,  you  mean?     O, 


A    DF.rTQUS    ll'A  V.  191 

everything;  the  day,  the  sunshine,  you — everything!  I 
feel  like  a  boy  out  for  a  holiday." 

"  You  act  like  one." 

There  was  a  hint  of  disapproval  in  her  tone,  but  he  did 
not  notice  it. 

"  J  suppose  so.  You  will  not  wonder  when  you  know  the 
reason.  I  have  ever  so  much  to  explain,  and  was  just  on 
my  way  to  see  you." 

"  You  were?  "  she  asked,  glancing  at  his  clothes. 

"  Well,  I  was  hurrying  to  the  study  to  change  these.  I 
should  have  had  my  uniform  on  by  this  time  if  I  had  not 
met  you— black  coat,  white  tie,  everything  quite  unex 
ceptionable,  I  assure  you." 

He  laughed  contentedly. 

"  I  should  hope  it  would  be  a  little  more  conventional 
than— what  you  have  on." 

"  These  are  all  right,"  he  answered  carelessly.  "  Four- 
fifths  of  the  men  in  the  city  do  not  wear  any  better." 

"  But  they — it  suits  their  station." 

"  Well,  it  suits  their  occupation ;  I  don't  know  about 
the  station.  They  are  workers,  and  it  would  seem  as  if 
those  who  make  luxury  possible  had  about  as  good  a 
right  as  anybody  to  enjoy  it.  But  I  have  been  very  happy 
wearing  these  clothes.  If  I  could  only  have  come  and 
told  you  about  it !  You  have  no  idea  how  hard  it  was  to 
stay  away." 

"  You  seem  to  have  endured  the  privation." 

She  was  looking  down  at  the  leaves  upon  the  walk  be 
fore  her,  stirring  them  with  the  tip  of  her  parasol. 

"I  knew  ft  was  unavoidable;  besides,  I  saw  you  al 
most  every  day." 

"Saw  me?" 

"After  your  return  to  the  city,  T  mean." 


192                             MVRrALE  EAST  MAX. 
"  But— I  don't  understand " 


"On  the  street,  you  know.  At  first  I  was  afraid  you 
would  recognize  me.  Afterward  I  enjoyed  watching  your 
happiness,  knowing  myself  unrecognized.  Haven't  you 
sometimes  thought  it  would  be  pleasant  to  observe  the 
happiness  of  those  you  love,  yourself  unseen?  It  was  like 
an  invisible  companionship.  Sometimes  I  used  to  think 
you  must  feel  my  presence." 

"  Why,  I  have  hardly  been  out  at  all.  Papa  had  to 
return  to  the  city,  and  I  came  to  keep  him  company;  but 
it  was  so  ridiculously  early  in  the  season  that  I  hardly 
showed  myself  abroad." 

"  I  knew  that  was  why  you  rode  so  much  on  the  street 
car." 

"  On  the  street-car?  "  She  started  and  glanced  quickly 
toward  him. 

"  I  thought  it  very  brave  of  you  to  sacrifice  so  much." 

"Sacrifice?     I  don't — understand  you." 

Her  face  was  like  flame,  and  she  looked  steadily  away 
from  her  companion. 

"  To  return  with  your  father,  I  mean." 

"  Oh — of  course.   But  where  were  you?  " 

"  Let  us  hurry  on.  You  shall  play  my  favorite  anthem 
on  the  organ,  and  then  I  will  tell  you  a  story." 

"  Can't  you  tell  it  here — on  one  of  the  benches?1' 

"  I  am  afraid  we  should  attract  too  much  attention." 

His  eyes  rested  an  instant  on  her  charming  suit  in  which 
the  early  autumn  tints  were  so  deftly  blended,  and  then 
with  a  smile  he  glanced  down  at  his  own  garments. 

"  The  combination  is  unusual,"  she  said  wfth  a  laugh. 
"  That  is  why  people  stare  at  us  so,  I  suppose." 

"  Do  they?  I  hadn't  noticed," he  said  carelessly.  "No 
matter,  we  shall  have  the  church  all  to  ourselves." 


A   DEVIOUS    WAY.  £93 

"  But  it  is  so  gloomy.  I  always  think  of  spooks  when 
I  look  into  an  empty  church." 

"  Have  you  ever  seen  the  sunshine  through  the  oriel, 
lighting  up  the  Christ?" 

"No." 

He  noted  her  indifference. 

"  I  understand,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  inquiringly. 

"  That  you  should  think  the  church  gloomy,  I  mean. 
It  is  a  pity  it  is  ever  closed.  I  love  to  sit  in  the  dim 
light  and  watch  the  golden  disk  creep  upward  to  the  hal 
lowed  head.  To  me  it  is  always  a  sanctuary,  a  place  of 
refuge,  full  of  sweet  thoughts.  I  have  so  often  dreamed 
of  having  you  with  me  there  that  I  forgot  you  might  not 
enjoy  it  as  I  do." 

There  was  a  trace  of  disappointment  in  his  tone,  but 
no  reproach.  She  looked  searchingly  at  him,  but  made 
no  reply.  His  head  was  bent  down  watching  the  little 
billow  of  leaves  which  rose  before  his  footsteps,  but  the 
boyish  glee  which  had  been  in  his  face  had  departed. 
Suddenly  he  stopped.  They  were  just  opposite  the  great 
cluster  of  nyassa. 

"  Why,  what  am  I  thinking  of?  "  he  exclaimed.  "  Here 
is  just  the  place." 

He  pushed  aside  the  branches  which  met  above  the 
neglected  walk  and  signed  for  her  to  enter. 

"Oh,  no,  not  there!  "  she  exclaimed  with  a  start 

"Why  not?  It  is  a  very  pretty  spot,  and  entirely  se 
cluded." 

"  Yes — of  course,"  she  stammered,  "  but  I — I  would 
rather  go  to  the  church."  She  looked  up  appealingly. 

"As  you  prefer,  certainly,"  he   said  in  a  disappointed 

tone,  letting  go  the  branches,  "  but  I  assure  you 

13 


T94  MURVALE  EASTMA.Y. 

"Isn't  that  where — where  the  man  was  taken  sick?" 
she  interrupted  hurriedly. 

"  Mr.  Undenvbod?     Yes.     Did  his  wife  tell  you?  " 

"  I  haven't  seen  her.'' 

"  I  thought  you  said  you  had  been  at  the  church." 

"  I  didn't  go  in." 

"That's  a  pity;  it  would  have  done  them  good,  I  am 
sure." 

"  I — I  don't  like  sick  people,"  petulantly. 

"  Of  course  not,  but  they  are  entitled  to  sympathy,"  he 
answered  gravely.  ^ 

"  Oh,  I  am  sorry  for  the  sick,  and  for  the  unfortunate, 
too,"  she  added  apologetically. 

"  I  am  sure  you  are." 

"  But  I  don't  like  to  see  them,  to  be  near  them,  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  them." 

"  I  suppose  some  are  so  constituted,"  he  replied.  "  For 
tunately,  the  sick  are  not  the  only  ones  who  need  to  be 
cheered,  and  one  who  makes  so  many  happy  need  not  re 
proach  herself  for  shrinking  from  the  sight  of  suffering." 

"But  I— whom  do  I  make  happy?"  she  asked  in  sur 
prise. 

"  Every  one  who  sees  you,"  he  answered  warmly. 
"  Beauty  is  a  priceless  gift;  it  blesses  all  beholders." 

"  You  do  not  think  it  wicked  to  love  pretty  things, 
then?" 

"Assuredly  not,"  he  answered  with  a  mischievous  glance. 
"  I  should  be  a  great  sinner  if  it  were." 

"Ah,  I  didivt  mean  that,"  she  said  with  a  conscious 
blush ;  "  to  desire  to  be  pretty,  I  mean." 

"  Do  you  not  suppose  the  butterfly  enjoys  his  beauty 
as  well  as  the  bee  her  sweets?  And  does  it  not  bring  us 
as  much  happiness?" 


A   DEVIOUS    WAY.  195 

f'  But  if  a  woman  should  be — should  like  to  be  ad 
mired?" 

"  It  is  her  duty  to  be  attractive,"  replied  tke  lover  earn 
estly.  "  God  gave  woman  beauty  to  lighten  the  world. 
With  it  she  is  able  to  exorcise  evil  and  strengthen  the  im 
pulse  for  good.  Man  does  not  need  it.  He  is  the  doer, 
the  achiever.  Woman  is  the  inspirer,  the  consoler.  Her 
beauty  is  the  complement  of  his  strength.  A  woman 
should  rejoice  in  her  beauty  just  as  a  man  exults  in  his 
strength.  It  is  her  kingdom.  Man  seldom  possesses  it, 
and  when  he  does  it  rarely  inures  to  his  own  or  the  world's 
advantage." 

They  were  still  standing  before  the  opening  in  the 
hedge  through  which  the  seat  under  the  nyassa  could  be 
dimly  seen.  Lilian  had  often  sat  there  with  her  old  play 
mate  Marsh,  and  his  handsome  face  rose  before  her  as 
Murvale  Eastman  uttered  these  words. 

"  Let  us  go,"  she  said  with  sudden  irritation  of  manner. 

They  moved  quickly  on,  through  the  gate  and  toward 
the  study,  Eastman  wondering  what  he  had  said  to  give 
her  annoyance. 

The  reporters  had  gone.  There  had  been  two  or  three 
loitering  about  the  church  when  Lilian  walked  by  an  hour 
before,  Marsh  among  them.  She  had  intended  to  call  at 
the  study,  not  from  sympathy,  but  out  of  curiosity.  See 
ing  Marsh,  she  turned  into  the  park,  and  more  from  habit 
than  deliberate  purpose,  had  gone  and  sat  down  in  their 
old  haunt.  He  had  followed  her,  and  his  rollicking  humor 
had  driven  away  the  gloom  which  oppressed  her.  She 
had  thought  herself  very  unhappy;  but  the  gay  young 
fellow  soon  made  her  smile.  Everybody  knew  of  her  en 
gagement  to  the  young  minister,  but  Marsh  ignored  it, 
and  gave  her  an  amusing  account  of  his  disappearance, 


196  M UK  VALE  EASTM.l\ 

making  a  thousand  ridiculous  surmises  about  the  missing 
pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  but  taking  care  to  say  noth 
ing  that  might  offenxi.  She  had  just  left  Marsh  and  saun 
tered  down  to  the  entrance  on  the  avenue  when  she  met 
Murvale  Eastman.  The  contrast  between  the  handsome 
young  reporter  and  the  sturdy,  matter-of-fact  minister 
clad  in  his  workingman's  suit  had  appealed  to  her  un 
pleasantly.  She  did  not  love  Marsh,  though  she  had  liked 
him  almost  ever  since  she  could  remember,  and  she  did 
love  Murvale  Eastman — so  she  said.  She  was  certainly 
very  proud  of  the  fact  that  he  loved  her.  She  wished  he 
would  not  take  so  much  for  granted,  however;  that  he 
would  not  forget  that  a  woman  loves  always  to  be  wooed, 
even  after  she  has  been  won.  In  short,  she  could  not 
help  wishing  that  he  was  more  like  her  old  playmate  and 
less  like  himself.  Somehow,  she  could  not  understand 
him— or  perhaps  he  did  not  understand  her. 

"  Can  we  not  get  into  the  church  without  going  through 
the  study?"  she  asked  as  they  approached  the  entrance. 

"There  is  the  door  to  the  organ  loft,''  he  answered 
hesitantly. 

"  Let  us  go  that  way." 

"  The  key  is  in  the  study." 

"  I  will  wait  for  you  here." 

She  sat  down  on  one  of  the  stone  benches  in  the  atrium 
while  he  opened  the  door  with  his  latch-key.  When  he 
returned  she  was  tracing  figures  on  the  stone  floor  with 
her  parasol  and  did  not  hear  his  approach  until  he  said : 

"  A  penny  for  your  thoughts!  " 

She  started  and  looked  up  at  him.  What  a  splendid 
specimen  of  manhood  he  was,  so  strong  and  resolute! 
She  could  not  help  comparing  him  with  Marsh.  She  had 
been  thinking  of  the  two  all  the  time  he  was  away.  He 


DEriOUS   IV AY. 


197 


had  changed  his  attire,  and  held  a  small  key  in  his 
hand. 

"Don't  you  think  we'd  better  go  through  the  study?" 

A  shadow  fell  upon  her  face. 

"As  you  wish,"  he  said  lightly.  "You  will  find  the 
other  a  crooked  way,  and  I  fear  a  dusty  one.  Nobody 
uses  it  but  the  organist,  and  he  but  seldom." 

She  looked  up  as  if  to  make  some  reply,  then  turned 
and  started  down  the  steps,  raising  her  parasol  as  she  did 
so,  though  the  sun  was  not  shining  in  the  alley.  Arriving 
at  the  door,  he  opened  it,  she  stepped  within,  and  he  fol 
lowed. 

"  Shall  I  leave  the  door  open?  "  he  asked. 

"No." 

Her  voice  sounded  strangely  hoarse  in  the  narrow  pas 
sage.  He  shut  the  door  and  groped  about  for  the  stairs. 

"  Dark  as  the  pyramids,  isn't  it?  "  he  said.  "  Give  me 
your  hand,  Lilian,  and  let  me  strike  a  match.  Where  are 
you?" 

"Here" 

Close  beside  him  came  the  answer.  The  word  was 
spoken  in  a  whisper.  He  almost  felt  her  breath.  At  the 
same  instant  his  arm  encircled  her.  He  had  not  thought 
she  was  so  near.  He  felt  with  his  left  hand  along  the 
wall,  still  holding  her  with  his  right. 

"  Here  are  the  stairs.     Come  on,  dear.'* 

There  was  no  need  for  him  to  whisper,  but  he  somelu  w 
did  not  think  of  speaking  above  his  breath. 

"  Be  careful,"  he  said  anxiously.  The  stairs  were  nar 
row  and  they  walked  side  by  side,  his  arm  around  her 
still.  Yet  he  was  afraid!  She  was  so  slight,  so  precious! 
How  terribly  dark  it  was!  Why  had  he  let  her  come  that 
way?  Yet  he  was  glad  that  she  had  insisted  on  doing  so. 


198  Mi'Rl'ALE   EASTMAX. 

It  showed  her  confidence  in  him.  It  was  so  sweet  to  be 
alone  with  her,  so  utterly  alone!  He  almost  lifted  her  up 
the  winding  stairs,  testing  each  step  before  he  trusted  it. 
How  silly  he  was!  He  had  never  clasped  her  in  his  arms 
before ;  he  would  not  have  done  it  then  but  for  the  narrow 
stairway  and  the  darkness. 

They  emerged  at  length  into  a  narrow  space  behind  the 
great  organ.  A  little  round  window  like  that  in  a  ship's 
side  let  in  the  sunshine  above  them.  A  heavy  curtain 
shut  the  recess  off  from  the  body  of  the  church.  They 
stopped  and  listened.  There  was  no  sound  save  their 
own  breathing.  He  released  her  as  they  reached  the  top 
of  the  stairs,  and  she  entered  before  him.  She  stepped 
across  to  the  curtain,  drew  it  aside  a  little,  and  peeped 
down  into  the  silent  church,  then  turned  and  glanced  up 
at  him.  His  face  was  flushed. 

"  I  am  afraid,  Murvale/'  she  whispered.  "  Let  us  go 
back." 

She  crept  toward  him,  trembling  and  pale,  as  if  to  regain 
the  stairs.  He  reached  out  his  arm  and  drew  her  to  him. 
She  turned  away  her  face  and  struggled,  half-protestingly. 

"  Murvale!   Murvale!     Let  us  go  back!  " 

She  still  spoke  in  a  whisper.  He  drew  her  closer.  Her 
hat  fell  back.  He  kissed  the  wavy  tresses  as  her  head 
lay  on  his  breast. 

"  Lilian !  My  own,  my  very  own !  "  he  whispered.  She 
turned  her  face  upward  and  offered  him  her  lips.  He 
kissed  them  again  and  again.  Her  hat  dropped  down 
upon  the  floor  and  her  hair  fell  like  a  wave  of  burnished 
gold  about  her  shoulders.  He  put  her  off  at  arm's-length 
and  gazed  at  her,  intoxicated  with  her  beauty.  Her  eyes 
fell  and  her  bosom  heaved  with  quick  breaths. 

He  lifted  her  upon  the  one  stool  that  stood  in  the  narrow 


A   DEVIOUS    U\{  Y. 


199 


passage,  and  suddenly  knelt  down  before  her,  bowing  his 
head  upon  his  clasped  hands,  which  rested  on  her  lap.  She 
looked  down  at  him  wonderingly.  He  held  one  of  her 
hands  clasped  in  his.  She  put  up  the  other  and  threw 
back  a  wave  of  hair  that  had  fallen  on  her  bosom.  Still 
he  did  not  move.  She  drew  back  a  little  way  and  sought 
to  release  her  hand.  It  was  as  if  held  in  a  vise.  When  he 
looked  up  his  face  was  aglow  with  a  calm,  quiet  light  and 
his  lashes  were  wet  with  tears. 

"  Lilian,  my  own  Lilian,"  he  said  as  he  rose  and  kissed 
her  forehead.  She  shrank  from  him  shudderingly. 

"  Why  did  you  bring  me  here?  "  she  asked. 

"I,  Lilian?     It  was  your  own  suggestion." 

He  spoke  in  his  ordinary  tone.  She  started  as  she 
heard  it  echo  through  the  empty  church. 

"  Hush!  "  she  breathed,  holding  up  her  hand. 

"  Why  should  we  speak  in  whispers,  Lilian?  "  he  asked; 
nevertheless  he  moderated  his  tone. 

"  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  me  Lilian,"  she  said  pettishly. 
"  I'm  not  a  child." 

"  But  you  are  my — my "  stammered  the  poor  fellow 

in  amazerrent. 

"No,  I'm  not  your — your  anything!" 

She  sprang  off  the  stool  and  began  to  coil  her  hair.  He 
picked  up  her  hat  and  brushed  the  dust  off  the  ribbons, 
gazing  at  it  admiringly. 

"  Do  you  know  this  is  a  very  pretty  hat,  Lilian?  " 

"Lilian  again!"  she  exclaimed  with  a  little  angry 
stamp.  "  I  wish  you  wouldn't.  You've  no  right  to  call 
me  that." 

"But  you  are  going  to  be  my  wife,  dear." 

"  Well,  we're  not  married  yet ;  perhaps  we  never  shall 
be." 


200  ML'Kl'ALE   EASTMAN. 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"No  matteY ;  let  me  go!  " 

She  tried  to  pass  him  and  go  down  the  stairs.  He  put 
his  arm  about  her,  but  she  twisted  away  from  him. 

"Let  me  go!  "  she  repeated  angrily. 

"  I  cannot  understand  you,  dear,"  he  said  wonderingly, 
"  but  you  must  know  that  you  cannot  return  that  way.  It 
would  never  do.  I  was  wrong,  perhaps,  to  let  you  come 
by  it.  But  we  can  never  go  back  where  we  were  a  little 
while  ago.  We  have  crossed  the  bridge  which  separates 
two  souls,  and  cannot  repass  it.  1  have  kissed  you,  and 
you  have  received  my  kisses.  Henceforth  we  belong  to 
each  other  and  I  must  protect  you  from  the  shadow  of  re 
proach." 

He  would  have  taken  her  in  his  arms  again,  but  she 
pushed  him  away,  and  stood  sobbing  and  trembling  before 
him. 

"  Let  me  go!  "  she  said  beseechingly.  "  Oh,  why  did  I 
come?" 

"  You  can  go,  certainly,  if  you  wish,"  he  said  coolly, 
"  but  you  cannot  go  the  way  we  came.  For  your  sake  and 
mine,  we  must  return  through  the  study." 

She  made  no  answer,  but  her  eyes  fell  before  his  earn 
est  yet  respectful  gaze.  What  a  strange  man  he  was! 
Would  he  always  be  better  than  she?  Yet  she  almost 
hated  him  for  his  thoughtfulness. 

"  We  will  open  the  organ,"  he  continued.  "  I  will  work 
the  bellows,  an.1  when  you  have  played  as  much  as  you 
like  we  will  go.  Come." 

He  held  out  his  hand.  She  placed  hers  in  it,  her  eyes 
still  downcast.  He  drew  aside  the  curtain  and  they 
stepped  out  into  the  little  gallery  where  the  singers  sat. 
The  sun  flamed  through  the  oriel  window  in  the  western 


THE    GLOW  OF  A    FATEFUL    GEM.  201 

gable  and  lit  up  the  head  of  the  Christ  in  the  famous  win 
dow.  Murvale  Eastman  removed  his  hat  with  a  look  of 
profound  reverence.  Lilian  Kishu,  after  one  swift  glance, 
bowed  her  head  and  pressed  her  hands  tightly  over  her 
eyes. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

THE    GLOW    OF    A    FATEFUL    GEM. 

THE  disk  of  sunshine  lighted  up  the  circlet  of  golden 
lilies  that  hung  above  the  thorn-crowned  head,  when 
Murvale  Eastman  left  the  bellows  and  came  to  tell  his 
betrothed  the  story  of  his  month's  experience  as  a  work- 
ingman.  She  turned  away,  half-regretfully  as  it  seemed, 
from  the  key- board  of  the  great  organ  whose  reeds  were 
still  quivering  with  the  dying  notes  of  the  exultant  anthem 
her  touch  had  evoked,  and  seated  herself  in  one  of  the 
spacious  chairs  of  the  little  gallery,  to  listen  to  the  prom 
ised  revelation.  In  the  softened  light  her  delicate  fea 
tures  and  lithe  form  stood  out  like  a  cameo  of  matchless 
grace  against  the  richly-upholstered  chair  on  which  she 
half-reclined.  He  was  silent  for  a  moment,  overwhelmed 
with  her  loveliness.  It  was  not  her  beauty — at  least  he 
did  not  think  of  that — but  the  gracious  abandon  of  her 
pose,  that  paralyzed  his  tongue  and  choked  back  the 
words  that  struggled  to  his  lips.  His  heart  was  full  of  a 
delicious  gratitude.  She  was  his,  his  life,  his  queen,  and 
she  accorded  him  an  audience  in  the  solemn  silence  of 
the  sanctuary  with  only  the  pictured  Christ  looking  down 
upon  them! 

She  glanced  up  under  the  brim  of  the  broad  hat,  the 


202  MURVALE  LASTMAN. 

shadow  of  which  set  off  with  rare  effect  the  gray-blue  eyes 
with  their  long  lashes  and  ever-appealing  expression  of 
childish  innocence,  and  seeing  the  rapt  look  upon  his  face, 
dropped  her  lids,  and  began  to  trace  the  figures  of  the 
carpet  with  the  tip  of  her  parasol.  She  did  not  change 
her  position.  Why  should  she?  In  a  year's  practice  she 
could  not  have  found  one  whose  unstudied  grace  so  well 
displayed  her  peculiar  charm.  She  was  hardly  beautiful; 
at  least  not  many  women  thought  her  so.  Neither  form 
nor  feature  were  of  notable  perfection;  yet  both  were 
good,  and  the  harmony  between  them  was  complete.  The 
slender  figure,  somewhat  below  the  medium  height, 
matched  exquisitely  the  delicate  face,  the  soft  golden  hair, 
and  the  tender,  childish  complexion.  Only  one  feature 
seemed  out  of  harmony  with  this  ensemble^  the  great  round 
eyes  with  their  dark  fringes,  and  the  clearly-marked  eye 
brows,  always  arched  as  if  in  constant  wonder  at  what  met 
her  gaze.  Men  admired  her  openly,  and  women  were 
never  jealous  of  her  charms,  for  united  with  them  she  had 
a  trustful  graciousness  of  manner  that  disarmed  suspicion 
and  held  even  love  at  bay.  Murvale  Eastman's  glance 
followed  her  downcast  eyes,  and  he  watched  in  silence 
while  she  continued  to  trace  the  figures  on  the  carpet. 

"  Well?  "  she  said  at  length  without  looking  up.  There 
was  a  hint  of  amusement  in  her  voice,  and  the  dimple  in 
her  cheek  grew  unconsciously  a  trifle  more  distinct.  She 
evidently  knew  and  was  pleased  with  the  effect  produced 
upon  her  simple-hearted  lover. 

He  told  his  story  without  any  of  the  animation  he  had 
imagined  he  would  throw  into  its  recital.  Poor  fellow! 
He  had  often  rehearsed  his.  part,  and  dreamed  of  the 
sympathy  that  would  light  her  eyes,  of  the  tenderness  that 
would  creep  into  her  voice,  as  she  listened  ta  his  tale  of 


THE  GLOW  OF  A   FA  TEFUL    GEM.  203 

manly  duty  manfully  performed.  He  loved  this  fair  girl 
so  simply  that  he  had  never  thought  it  possible  that  her 
nature  might  not  respond  to  his  aspirations.  He  had 
been  charmed  with  her  at  the  very  first,  and  in  his  loving 
fancy  had  clothed  her  with  all  worthy  attributes.  He  did 
not  liken  her  to  his  ideal — he  was  not  conscious  that  he 
had  any.  He  had  never  been  a  "ladies'  man."  He  was 
not  exactly  timid  in  their  presence,  but  said  to  himself 
that  he  did  not  understand  them.  He  had  never  had  a 
sister,  and  could  hardly  remember  his  mother.  A  maiden 
aunt  had  been  his  guardian,  and  had  done  her  duty  by 
keeping  him  at  school.  She  was  rich.  Her  home  had 
been  his  home;  but  she  seldom  occupied  it,  especially 
during  his  vacations.  He  had  grown  up,  therefore,  with 
somewhat  peculiar  ideas  of  womankind.  He  was  emphat 
ically  a  man's  man.  He  liked  the  society  and  the  sports 
of  men,  and  they  liked  him.  He  understood  men  and 
knew  how  to  weigh  and  measure,  how  to  please  and  how 
to  conquer  them.  While  he  enjoyed  their  approval,  their 
disapprobation  had  no  special  terror  for  him. 

As  for  women,  while  he  did  not  understand,  he  wor 
shiped  them.  He  never  doubted  that  they  were  much 
better  than  men.  All  the  noblest  features  of  humanity 
were  feminine  to  him.  Love,  wifehood,  motherhood — 
these  were  sacred  realms,  over  which  woman  reigned  su 
preme.  Society,  the  world  of  fashion  even,  seemed  to  him 
not  something  base  and  false  and  vile,  but  a  beam  of  sun 
shine  in  which  pure  and  beautiful  butterflies  artlessly  dis 
ported  themselves  when  relieved  from  the  sacred  and  ten 
der  duties  imposed  upon  them  as  priestesses  in  the  temple 
of  life. 

When  he  came  to  love  Lilian  Kishu,  therefore,  he 
placed  her  on  the  very  pinnacle  of  imaginable  perfection. 


204 


MUJK  I'A LE  EA  S TMA X. 


He  never  thought  it  possible  that  she  could  be  smutched 
with  so  much  as  an  evil  thought.  He  did  not  deliberately 
believe  her  incapable  of  doing  wrong,  but  simply  never 
thought  of  evil  in  connection  with  her.  His  faith  was  in 
stinctive,  and  so  beyond  the  realm  of  doubt.  They  had 
been  betrothed  nearly  a,  year,  but  he  had  never  embraced 
her,  never  felt  himself  alone  with  her  before.  And  that 
embrace — the  kisses — how  they  thrilled  his  being!  How 
good  she  was  to  grant  him  such  rapturous  privilege!  No 
wonder  she  was  afraid  of  him!  He  had  been  a  boor—a 
bear!  And  she?  She  was  a  saint — a  lamb! 

Thus  the  simple-hearted  fellow  reasoned  with  himself 
as  he  worked  the  bellows,  while  the  fair  girl's  fingers  swept 
over  the  keys,  and  the  great  hollow  vault  echoed  and  re 
echoed  the  strains  of  praise  which  the  ear  of  genius  had 
caught  out  of  the  depths  of  space  which  to  other  souls  are 
cold  and  dull  as  the  void  of  eternity.,  Jonas  Underwood 
had  had  his  couch  moved  so  that  through  the  open  door 
behind  the  pulpit  he  might  look  up  at  the  figure  of  the 
Christ  he  loved  with  such  strange,  harsh  fervor.  He  lay 
holding  his  wife's  hand  while  they  watched  the  transfor 
mation,  and  the  tears  sprang  to  both  their  eyes  as  the 
volume  of  sweet  sound  came  echoing  through  the  spacious 
church  already  full  of  tender  symphonies.  All  unwittingly 
the  puzzled  lover  and  puzzling  maid  were  ministering  to 
bruised  souls  who  sat  in  shadow  waiting  for  the  end. 

Murvale  Eastman  had  never  dreamed  that  it  would 
seem  a  thankless  task  to  tell  the  woman  he  loved  what  he 
had  done,  what  he  hoped  to  do,  and  what  he  wished 
might  be  done.  To  him  the  betterment  of  human  condi 
tions  had  become  the  very  highest  form  of  praise.  The 
act  of  worship  was  to  him  only  the  human  soul's  passionate 
indorsement  of  the  beneficent  purpose  of  the  Divine,  He 


THE    GLOW  OF  A    FATEFUL    GEM.  205 

worshiped  God  because  he  believed  in  God's  love  to 
man.  He  did  not  once  dream  that  the  same  ecstatic  rec 
ognition  of  this  central  truth  of  Christianity  might  not 
animate  the  heart  of  his  betrothed.  He  was  sure  that  her 
nature  was  one  of  exquisite  sensibility.  He  had  seen  her 
lips  quiver  and  her  eyes  grow  soft  with  brimming  tears  as 
he  told  the  story  of  the  Christ  and  His  divine  mission. 
To  him  the  Master  was  the  incarnation  of  a  purpose  so 
holy,  so  intense  and  fervent,  that  shame  and  sorrow, 
humiliation  and  death  could  not  quench  it.  How  should 
he  know  that  while  he  was  extolling  the  strength  and 
grandeur  of  the  god-like  nature,  the  great  tender  eyes 
in  whose  cerulean  depths  he  was  wont  to  see  reflected  all 
the  holy  light  of  heaven,  were  dewy  only  with  pity  for  the 
suffering  which  the  Holy  One  endured?  How  should  he 
know  that  the  glow  which  lighted  up  her  face  and  so  en 
hanced  its  spiritual  beauty  that  he  sometimes  feared  his 
heart  worshiped  her  even  before  his  Master,  was  only  the 
reflection  of  his  own  enthusiasm?  He  did  not  know  these 
things,  and  because  he  did  not,  he  looked  to  find  himself 
rewarded  a  thousand  fold  for  the  efforts  he  had  made  to 
better  existing  conditions,  in  her  smiling,  wondering,  tear 
ful  appreciation. 

But  she  did  not  smile,  she  did  not  tremble  when  at 
length  the  time  came.  No  eager  love-light  came  dancing 
into  her  eyes  as  he  told  the  story  of  his  sojourn  in  the 
desert  of  toil.  She  sat  still,  quietly  tracing  the  pattern  of 
the  carpet,  breathing  evenly,  and  only  now  and  then  look 
ing  up  at  him  inquiringly. 

Yet  how  lovely  she  was!  The  soft  hair,  the  dreamy 
eyes,  the  graceful  lines  of  the  half-reclining  figure,  the 
careless  movement!  He  was  not  angry  at  her  lack  of  re 
sponsiveness.  It  was  not  much  to  her,  this  month  of 


2o6  At  UK  VALE  EAST.IfAX. 

strange  experience  to  him.  She  no  doubt  regarded  it  as 
a  matter  of  course,  one  of  the  things  a  man  ought  to  do, 
especially  a  minister.  He  wondered  if  he  ought  not  to 
have  done  more — so  much  that  she  would  have  been  com 
pelled  to  smile  approvingly,  at  least.  What  had  he  done, 
after  all?  What  an  egotist,  to  think  that  one  so  good  would 
be  stirred  by  the  bungling  story  of  his  awkward  effort  to 
solve  even  the  simplest  postulate  of  the  great  problem  of 
human  life! 

She  looked  up  at  last  with  eyes  full  enough  of  wonder 
— wonder  and  something  else,  he  could  not  determine 
what  it  was.  But  she  did  not  unbend,  her  cheek  did  not 
flush,  her  lips  gave  no  word  of  approval.  Her  eyes  seemed 
to  grow  larger,  their  blue  depths  to  become  gray.  Her 
cheek  was  cold,  and  the  hair  that  formed  so  soft  a  crown 
for  her  brow  seemed  to  lose  something  of  its  golden 
luster.  Of  what  was  she  thinking?  Had  he  failed  in 
the  telling  as  miserably  as  in  the  doing  of  his  self-appointed 
task? 

When  he  had  concluded  he  held  out  his  hand,  saying, 
"Now  you  know  it  all,  dear  Lilian — why  I  could  not 
come  to  you,  how  I  saw  you  so  often,  and  why  I  have 
said  and  done  the  things  at  which  you  wondered.  Will 
you  not  tell  me — have  I  done  right?  " 

She  did  not  take  his  hand,  but  drew  away  a  litile  and 
answered  in  a  strange,  constrained  manner: 

"  I  suppose  so,''  adding  as  she  saw  the  look  of  wonder 
deepening  in  his  eyes,  "  You  are  very  good,  you  must  be 
very  good,  much  better  than — than  I  could  ever  be."  She 
was  toying  with  a  ring  upon  her  finger  as  she  spoke.  "  I 
cannot  understand  how  you  should  enjoy  such  things/' 

"I  don't  suppose  I  do  enjoy  them,*'  he  said;  "at  least 
I  never  thought  of  them  as  a  source  of  enjoyment.  Prob- 


THE   GLOW  OF  A   FATEFUL   GEM.  207 

ably  one  does  enjoy  doing  what  he  thinks  ought  to  be 
done,  though,  just  as  a  brave  man  enjoys  difficulty  and 
danger." 

"  You  like  to  be  thought  brave?  " 

"  I  suppose  so,"  smiling ;  "  at  least  I  should  hate  to  be 
esteemed  a  coward.  I  think  any  man  would." 

"  Are  all  men  brave?  "     She  was  thinking  of  Marsh. 

"Well — yes,  I  suppose  so;  in  some  sense." 

"But  all  do  not  seek  to  do  such — such  unaccountable 
things?"  She  was  sure  Marsh  would  not. 

"Perhaps  not,1'  laughingly;  "not  just  the  same;  but 
they  may  do  things  requiring  a  good  deal  more  courage." 

"As  what?" 

"  Well,  a  great  wrong,  for  instance.  Every  wicked  man 
must  be  very  brave." 

Why  did  he  think  of  the  man  who  had  been  buried 
from  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  more  than  a  month 
before,  and  of  the  black-veiled  figure  he  had  met  in  the 
study  only  yesterday? 

Lilian  shrank  still  farther  away  at  his  words. 

"  Did  any  one  ever  tell  you  that  you  were  brave — very 
brave,   I   mean — unusually   brave?"    she   added   after  a     ' 
moment's  pause. 

"  I  don  t  know.     Why?  " 

"Oh,  nothing.  I  suppose  no  one  ever  said  to  you, 
'  You  are  a  brave  man ! ' :' 

"  Yes,  I  was  told  so — once ;  I  believe  twice,  now  that  I 
think  of  it." 

"  By  the  same  person?  " 

"  Curiously  enough,  yes." 

"  Did  it  give  you  pleasure?  " 

"I  hardly  think  so;  certainly  not  the  first  time." 

"It  was  a  person  whose  good  opinion  you  prized?' 


2o3  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 

"  Very  highly." 

"  And  one  capable  of  judging?  " 

"  One  of  the  bravest  women  that  ever  lived,"  he  spoke 
with  enthusiasm,  adding  more  temperately,  "  and  one  of 
the  best." 

There  was  a  moment's  hesitation,  and  a  hint  of  tremor 
in  her  voice  as  she  asked: 

"  Who  was  it,  Murvale?  " 

He  did  not  note  the  tone  nor  the  strained  look  in  her 
eyes.  The  shadows  were  gathering  in  the  church. 

"  It  was  a  good  while  ago — the  first  time,  that  is  " — he 
answered  with  something  like  a  sigh.  "  It  was  Mrs. — that 
is — perhaps  I  ought  not  to  tell  you  just  now.  You  will 
probably  know  all  about  it  to-morrow."  His  manner  was 
hesitant,  but  without  confusion. 

"Ah,  so  soon?"  she  rejoined  lightly,  starting  upright 
in  the  chair.  "Then  I'll  wait.  Shall  I  learn  everything 
about  her,  do  you  think?  " 

"  Oh,  I  suppose  so." 

There  was  no  mistaking  the  disgust  in  his  voice. 

"  How  delightful!     I  must  be  going  now." 

Her  tone  was  one  of  contented  cheerfulness.  Murvale 
Eastman  did  not  love  the  lady  in  black  whom  she  had 
overheard  conversing  with  him  in^the  study.  This  was 
enough.  She  was  not  always  sure  that  she  loved  the  man 
to  whom  she  was  engaged,  but  she  was  positive  that  she 
did  not  want  him  to  love  another.  If  he  were  only  not  so 
good,  or  rather  not  so  fond  of  doing  good — a  little  more 
like  Marsh— she  would  be  entirely  happy. 

She  rose,  letting  her  gloves  fail  from  her  lap.  He 
stooped  and  picked  them  up.  She  took  them  with  her 
right  hand,  changing  them  at  once  to  the  left,  which  held 
her  parasol,  and  whispered  her  thanks,  looking  up  into  his 


THE    GLOW  OP  A    FATEFUL    GEM.  209 

eyes,  her  right  hand  raised  expectantly.  Another  man 
would  have  kissed  her,  seeing  that  look  and  being  so  near. 
If  he  had  done  so  she  would  have  thrown  her  arm  about 
his  neck  and  told  him  how  jealous  she  had  been  of  the 
tall,  handsome  woman  with  whom  he  seemed  to  be  on 
such  familiar  terms;  that  she  was  ashamed  to  have 
doubted  him,  and  proud  of  his  unconscious  faithful 
ness. 

But  Murvale  Eastman  saw  none  of  this.  The  upraised 
hand  and  expectant  eyes  gave  him  no  hint.  He  merely 
turned  and  led  the  way  down  the  steps  to  the  platform. 
She  followed  moodily.  She  could  not  help  thinking  that 
her  old  playmate  would  never  have  slighted  her  pretty 
overture.  Yet  he  had  never  kissed  her  since  they  were 
little  children  at  dancing-school  together.  What  a  gal 
lant  little  lover  he  was  then !  She  cared  nothing  for  him 
now,  she  thought,  and  she  tried  so  hard  to  love  her  be 
trothed,  but  he  was  so — so  blind!  Yet  how  he  loved  her, 
so  fervently,  so  purely!  She  was  very  proud  of  him,  very 
proud  of  his  love,  only  she  wished  it  were — well,  a  little 
different,  somehow. 

The  door  into  the  study  was  closed.  As  they  reached 
the  foot  of  the  stairs,  he  said  hesitantly:  "You  will  speak 
to — to — the  good  people  in  there?" 

"  If  you  wish." 

"  Thank  you." 

He  knocked  at  the  door,  and  when  they  were  admitted 
introduced  his  companion.  The  sick  man  was  resting 
quietly,  but  the  look  upon  his  face  was  of  that  pathetic 
sort  which  indicates  the  hope  of  delay  rather  than  re 
covery.  He  took  the  young  girl's  hand  and  looked  with 
tender  meaning  from  her  face  to  that  of  his  friend. 

"  She  is  to  be  my  wife,"  Murvale  Eastman  responded 
14 


$10  MURVALE 

to  the  unspoken  question.  His  tone  was  very  tender. 
Lilian's  face  flushed  scarlet. 

"  How  like  a  man,"  said  Mrs.  Underwood,  noting  the 
girfs  embarrassment  and  wishing  to  relieve  it.  "  You 
must  teach  him  better  manners,  miss."  Yet  the  look  she 
cast  on  the  offender  was  one  of  open  admiration.  There 
is  nothing  a  woman  so  much  admires  in  a  lover  as  the 
frank  avowal  of  his  love  for  another. 

"  You  are  a  very  fortunate  woman,"  whispered  Jonas 
Underwood,  still  holding  her  hand  and  turning  an  earnest 
look  upon  the  young  man  as  he  stepped  a  little  aside  talking 
in  a  low  tone  to  the  wife  about  her  husband's  condition. 
Lilian  lifted  her  eyes  from  the  invalid's  face  and  let  them 
rest  upon  her  lover.  Why  could  he  not  have  been  as 
picturesque-looking  as  this  man  with  his  long  beard  and 
magnificent  dark  eyes!  J5he  knew  Murvale  Eastman  was 
strong  and  supple,  a  man  whose  physique  was  envied  by 
other  men,  but  there  was  nothing  striking  in  his  appear 
ance.  If  he  only  had  this  man's  eyes  it  would  be  so  much 
easier,  she  thought,  to  love  him — as  he  deserved. 

As  this  thought  passed  through  her  mind  the  sick  man's 
eyes  fell  upon  an  opal  that  shone  upon  one  of  the  fingers 
of  the  hand  he  held.  His  face  showed  an  almost  childish 
pleasure  as  he  watched  its  fitful  iridescence,  turning  the 
white  hand  back  and  forth  that  he  might  catch  the  gleam 
of  fire  which  the  gas-jet  shining  above  the  head  of  his 
couch  awoke  in  the  mysterious  stone.  Lilian  watched 
him  wonderingly.  She  did  not  like  sick  people,  but  this 
man  with  his  flowing  beard,  dark  eyes,  wide  brow,  and 
tender,  pathetic  look,  attracted  her  greatly.  She  liked 
to  have  him  hold  her  hand.  She  wished  she  might  do 
something  to  give  him  pleasure. 

"  The  only  gem  I  ever  fancied,"  he  whispered  with  a 
smile,  "was  an  opal." 


THE    GLOW  OF  A    FATEFUL    GEM.  21 1 

"  I  hate  them ! ;;  she  answered  pettishly. 

The  statement  was  hardly  true.  She  had  been  greatly 
pleased  when  this  came  into  her  possession,  but  she  did 
not  wish  him  to  think  she  cared  for  it. 

"It  is  said  opals  always  bring  my  family  good  luck." 

"  This  has  never  brought  me  any." 

"  But  you  do  not  know  what  it  may  have  in  store  for  you. 
You  have  not  done  with  it  yet." 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  she  responded  gayly ;  "  I  am  going  to  give 
it  to  you." 

She  glanced  toward  Murvale  Eastman  as  she  spoke, 
but  did  not  raise  her  eyes  to  his  face.  Why  had  she  ut 
tered  those  words?  She  had  hardly  worn  the  gem  an 
hour  when  he  declared  his  love.  It  was  on  her  birthday, 
almost  a  year  before.  She  was  very  proud  then,  both  of 
her  new  ring  and  her  new  lover.  .Would  he  remember  it? 
She  looked  up  at  his  face.  He  was  smiling  approval,  evi 
dently  unconscious  of  the  significance  of  her  words,  and 
only  glad  that  she  was  entertaining  the  man  he  had  be 
friended.  She  was  angry  because  he  would  not  remon 
strate. 

She  slipped  the  ring  off  her  finger  and  dropped  it  into 
Jonas  Underwood's  open  palm.  He  received  it  with  a 
look  of  gratified  surprise. 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,"  he  said  with  a  quick  upward 
glance.  "  You  know  an  opal  resents  being  bought  and 
sold,  and  is  a  gift  that  must  never  be  consciously  requited, 
or  made  in  acknowledgment  of  known  favor.  You  have 
met  the  conditions ;  and  this  has  brought  you  good  fortune 
in  spite  of  yourself.  I  have  already  paid  you  even  more 
than  its  value." 

"You  have?" 

"Wait!  wait!"  he  said  meaningly. 


312  MCRVALE  EASTMAN. 

"  You  must  not  talk  so  much,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Under 
wood,  hastening  to  the  side  of  the  couch,  anxious  to  spare 
the  invalid.  "  He  means,"  she  added,  looking  up  at  the 
girl  and  then  glancing  around  at  her  companion,  "  that  he 

has  made  your  husband  that  is  to  be- "  she  paused  in 

evident  confusion. 

"  Richer  than  he  ever  dreamed  of  being,"  interposed 
the  minister,  instinctively  recognizing  her  embarrassment 
and  naturally  misconstruing  it.  "  I  should  never  have 
o\vned  that  dinner-pail  but  for  him,  Lilian.  I  have'  told 
her  all  about  it,"  he  added  with  a  smile  to  the  invalid. 

"  But  I  meant -'?  began  Mrs.  Underwood.  A  look 

from  her  husband  checked  the  explanation. 

Murvale  Eastman  and  Lilian  Kishu  soon  bade  the  oc 
cupants  of  the  study  good-night  and  sauntered  toward  her 
father's,  house  in  the  early  autumn  twilight.  Not  much 
was  said  upon  the  way;  his  heart  was  too  full — and  hers? 
They  climbed  the  marble  steps  and  entered  the  vestibule. 
It  was  spacious  and  dimly-lighted.  Though  deemed  a 
marvel  of  architectural  elegance  a  score  of  years  before,  the 
house  was  already  growing  old-fashioned. 

"Shall  I  ring?"  he  asks. 

She  shakes  her  head,  searches  in  her  pocket  for  a  latch 
key,  and  inserting  it  in  its  place,  says: 

"Will  you  come  in?" 

It  is  not  an  invitation,  only  a  courtesy.  He  feels  it  to 
be  such. 

"  I  think  you  have  given  me  enough  of  your  time  to 
day." 

There  is  a  grateful  tenderness  in  his  tone.  She  takes 
the  hand  he  extends. 

"  Good-night." 

She  looks  up  into  his  eyes.     "  Murvale,  I  am  not  good 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  "SCOOPS"  THE  BREEZE. 


213 


enough  to — to  be  your  wife,"  she  whispers.  She  lifts  his 
hand  to  her  lips;  kisses  it  once,  twice,  thrice,  with  fierce, 
passionate  ardor;  opens  the  door,  and  with  a  little  laugh 
disappears  within. 

The  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  stood  without,  speech 
less  with  rapture.  He  walked  on  air,  his  head  knocking 
against  the  stars,  as  he  made  his  way  homeward.  Never 
theless  he  did  ample  justice  to  the  belated  meal  that 
awaited  him,  notwithstanding  the  landlady's  frowns.  He 
was  a  healthy  man,  though  a  purblind  lover.  Some  hours 
afterward  he  fell  asleep  and  slept  until  the  dawn,  without 
once  dreaming  that  the  night  was  but  a  narrow  isthmus 
stretched  between  a  blissful  past  and  an  ocean  of  inky 
blackness  that  lay  beyond. 


CHAPTER    XIX. 

THE    THUNDERBOLT    "  SCOOPS  "    THE    BREEZE. 

THERE  was  no  room  to  doubt  that  the  Thunderbolt  had 
made  a  hit.  It  was  a  very  attractive  scandal,  and  the 
edition  went  off  like  hot  cakes.  Every  man  one  met  upon 
the  streets  had  a  copy  in  his  hand,  or  in  his  pocket.  The 
presses  were  worked  at  top  speed  to  meet  the  extra  de 
mand.  The  article  purported  to  be  based  on  information 
supplied  by  a  reporter  of  the  Breeze,  but  not  a  hint  of  the 
scandal  was  to  be  found  in  the  columns  of  that  journal. 
The  Thunderbolt  had  evidently  "scooped"  its  rival,  and 
reaped  the  reward  of  enterprise.  That  was  the  verdict  of 
the  public.  No  lady  was  willing  to  be  seen  with  the  paper 
in  her  possession,  but  an  unusually  large  number  of  serv 
ant  girls  displayed  great  anxiety  to  secure  the  latest 


2i4  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

news.  The  newsboys  understood  the  situation  and 
winked  at  the  housemaids,  but  never  offered  the  Thuti~ 
derbolt  to  a  lady.  Yet,  somehow,  the  mistresses  seemed 
to  have  divined  what  the  paper  contained.  So,  all  over 
the  city,  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  its  pastor, 
Wilton  Kishu,  his  daughter  Lilian,  and  the  mj^sterious 
woman  in  black,  were  curiously  intermingled  in  the  gossip 
of  the  day ;  while  the  wires  that  led  to  other  cities  were 
hot  with  the  racy  revelations  which  were  already  being 
set  up  with  many  an  irreverent  jest  in  hundreds  of  com 
posing  rooms  throughout  the  land. 

It  is  the  fashion  of  the  time.  Innocence  is  no  longer 
deemed  a  desirable  quality;  and  there  are  many  good 
people  who  declare  that  familiarity  with  vice  is  not  detri 
mental  to  manly  worth  or  womanly  purity.  It  is  only 
romantic  notions  of  love  and  virtue  that  we  fear  to-day ; 
and  these  we  seek  to  forestall  by  prescribing  for  the  young 
soul  the  carefully  elaborated  daily  record  of  the  world's 
infamies,  and  substituting  "realistic"  impurity  as  a  motive 
for  "healthy  fiction,"  instead  of  the  silly  sentimentalism 
of  old-fashioned  love.  No  matter;  a  generation  to  whose 
lips  the  pessimistic  foulness  of  Tolstoi  and  his  imitators 
has  been  commended  as  an  inspiring  cordial,  not  only  by 
the  high -priests  of  literature,  but  by  ministers  of  God,  is 
perhaps  beyond  fear  of  peril  from  the  highly-spiced  narra 
tives  of  social  peccadillos  which  abound  in  the  daily  press. 
News  is  the  most  important  element  of  knowledge;  and 
naughtiness  the  most  important  feature  of  news.  Such  is 
the  verdict  of  to-day. 

So  the  hum  of  scandal  filled  the  city,  and  the  leer  of 
shameful  consciousness  gave  a  zest  to  the  general  dis 
course. 

Even  the  blush  on  the  cheek  of  innocence  told  how 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  ^SCOOPS"  THE  BREEZE.    215 

thoroughly  the  city  was  enjoying  the  feast  of  foulness  the 
editor  of  the  Thunderbolt  had  spread  for  their  delectation. 
It  was  the  biggest  kind  of  a  hit.  Twenty  thousand  more 
of  the  papers  sold  than  of  any  edition  of  the  Thunderbolt 
ever  printed  before.  All  the  men  commended  the  journal 
for  its  boldness  and  enterprise.  But  thank  God,  no  man 
opened  his  lips  to  any  woman  in  such  vein!  It  may  not 
be  much  to  be  grateful  for,  but  even  the  most  insignifi 
cant  blessing  should  not  be  overlooked.  And  there  were 
some,  too — how  rare  they  seemed  to  the  hopeful  observer! 
— who  with  saddened  eyes  and  anxious  tones,  sometimes 
feaful  and  sometimes  resentful,  asked:  "  Do  you  suppose 
this  dreadful  story  can  be  true?"  And  there  were  fewer 
still — ah,  so  very  few! — who  drew  down  their  brows 
angrily,  and  pinning  their  faith  to  .poor  self-slandered 
humanity,  resolutely  said,  "  It  is  a  lie !  "  Blessed  be  the 
remnant  who  can  still  believe  God's  noblest  work  not 
wholly  foul! 

Yet  many  of  the  good  people  who  deem  the  depiction 
of  vice  the  chief  means  of  promoting  virtue,  praised  the 
Thunderbolt  for  the  innuendoes  it  flung  at  the  pastor  of 
the  Golden  Lilies,  and  at  the  woman  who  had  presumed  to 
become  a  householder  in  the  city,  and  assume  the  guise 
of  gentility,  without  furnishing  evidence  of  abundant 
means  or,  at  least,  influential  connections.  If  she  had 
been  known  to  be  worth  a  million  dollars,  society  would 
have  asked  no  questions  about  her  past,  and  the  editor 
would  as  soon  have  bitten  off  his  own  head  as  have  given 
currency  to  such  aspersions. 

When  he  went  down  to  his  breakfast  that  morning, 
Murvale  Eastman  found  himself  the  center  of  a  curious 
circle  who  strove  in  vain  to  conceal  the  conscious  glances 
that  sought  his  face  while  he  read  the  account  of  his  own 


216  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

"  shameless  conduct  "  as  it  was  "  exposed  "  in  the  news 
paper  which  lay  beside  his  plate.  Most  unexpectedly 
to  the  observers,  it  did  not'  seem  to  affect  him  seriously. 
Sometimes  his  face  became  grave,  but  more  frequently  it 
was  smiling  and  mirthful.  With  most  reprehensible  dis 
regard  for  the  feelings  of  others,  he  said  nothing  about 
the  matter  he  must  have  known  was  uppermost  in  the 
minds  of  his  fellow-lodgers,  but  ate  as  hearty  a  breakfast 
as  if  he  had  not  been  struck  by  the  Thunderbolt.  The 
watchers  were  disappointed,  dissatisfied.  It  was  shame 
ful,  they  said,  such  callous  indifference.  Even  if  inno 
cent,  he  would  naturally  have  been  pained  at  such  a 
public  scandal,  for  the  sake  of  his  church,  if  not  for  him 
self.  So  his  very  lack  of  guilty  confusion  was  taken  as  a 
proof  of  guilt;  and  the  cheerful  appetite  with  which  he 
discussed  his  breakfast  was  held  by  the  gossips  of  the 
house  to  be  proof  positive  of  a  hardened  conscience. 

Of  half  this  feeling,  Murvale  Eastman  was  unconscious, 
and  of  the  rest,  indifferent.  The  matter,  so  far  as  he  was 
personally  concerned,  seemed  to  him  rather  amusing  than 
serious.  The  whole  thing  was  so  plain — his  relation  to 
it  so  absolutely  blameless— that  he  could  not  imagine 
anything  more  than  a  candid  statement  of  the  facts  neces 
sary,  not  merely  to  free  him  from  suspicion  of  evil,  but  to 
establish  the  fair  fame  of  the  lady  whose  name  had  been 
so  recklessly  associated  with  his.  He  would  have  pitied 
the  Thunderbolt  for  its  absurd  mistake,  had  not  all  his  pity 
been  given  to  his  innocent  partner  in  imputed  evil.  He 
could  not  but  think  of  the  tears  she  would  shed.  Poor 
woman !  She  had  known  a  good  deal  of  sorrow,  but  until 
this  time  had  always  found  sympathizing  friends.  Now 
she  was  alone,  alone  in  the  great  city  except  for  him  and 
her  lawyer.  But  Metziger  was  a  host  in  himself;  he  would 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  "SCOOPS"  THE  BREEZE.    217 

be  sure  to  turn  this  brutal  attack  to  her  advantage.  Still, 
that  would  only  be  to  transfer  the  load  of  shame  to  other 
hearts.  What  he  half-hoped  might  not  be  generally 
known  would  now  be  made  public.  Others  would  be 
made  to  bear  the  burden  of  sin  and  shame  the  scandal 
monger  had  sought  to  cast  on  this  defenseless  woman's 
head. 

Would  people  guess  the  truth?  There  it  was,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  told  as  plain  as  words  could  tell  it.  She 
had  been  known  at  the  Glenmore  as  Mrs  Sandford ;  now 
she  had  assumed  the  name  of  Merton ;  "  probably,"  the 
witty  reporter  stated,  "  from  motives  of  economy,  the  name 
of  J.  Sandford  Merton  being  yet  upon  the  door-plate." 
There  was  a  romance,  a  tragedy,  a  terrible  story  of  real 
life  in  those  words,  but  the  astute  journalist  did  not  see 
it.  Would  others  be  as  blind — the  family — the  world? 
And  if  they  were  not,  what  would  be  said  of  the  dead — of 
the  church — of  the  religion  he  professed? 

The  young  minister's  face  became  grave  enough  as  he 
thought  of  these  things,  and  there  were  tears  in  his  eyes, 
which  the  landlady  noted,  as  he  finished  his  coffee.  A 
card  was  handed  to  him  at  that  moment — Percy  W. 
Searle  was  the  name  it  bore.  He  heard  the  bells  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  ring  out  nine  o'clock  as  he  went  up  the 
stairs  to  meet  the  representative  of  the  Breeze.  Dear 
church!  He  always  noted  its  chimes!  His  heart  ached 
to  think  that  any  taint  of  shame  might  stain  the  sweetness 
of  its  renown !  Nine  o'clock ;  his  engagement  with  Mrs. 
Merton  is  at  ten.  He  must  not  forget  that.  She  has 
need  of  all  her  friends  now;  and  he  is  just  half  of  all  she 
has  in  the  city.  He  must  not  fail  to  keep  his  appoint 
ment,  nor  be  a  moment  late,  lest  it  cause  her  one  more 
pang.  He  cannot  give  Mr.  Searle  much  time;  fortu- 


218  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

nately,  it  is  not  necessary.  So  he  says  to  himself  as  he  as 
cends  the  stairs,  and  there  is  a  pleasant  smile  upon  his 
face  as  he  extends  his  hand  to  the  reporter  who  waits  his 
coming  in  the  hall. 

"You  can  give  me  a  minute?"  asks  Searle,  testing  the 
genial  face  before  him  with  those  calm  gray  eyes  which 
are  trained  to  read  the  hearts  of  men,  while  his  counte 
nance  gives  no  hint  of  the  verdict  heart  and  brain  are  mak 
ing  up. 

"About  forty  of  them/'  is  the  hearty  reply,  which  is 
easily  heard  in  the  adjacent  parlor. 

"  Is  that  all?  "  with  a  smile.  "  Well,  I  guess  the  Breeze 
can  get  along  with  that.  I  presume  your  time  will  be 
pretty  well  taken  up  to-day.1' 

They  are  walking  along  the  narrow  hall  toward  the 
stairway  in  the  rear.  Searle  is  conscious  that  more  than 
one  face  is  peering  at  them  through  the  parlor  door,  and 
cannot  resist  a  smile  at  the  discomfiture  he  thinks  they 
are  sure  to  meet.  But  the  minister's  answering  words 
overwhelm  even  his  impregnable  equipoise,  and  stun  him 
into  silence  with  astonishment. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know,"  responds  the  minister  gayly.  He 
is  just  rounding  the  turn  in  the  stairs  at  the  landing,  half 
way  up  the  long  first  flight.  He  has  one  hand  in  the 
pocket  of  a  black  velvet  smoking-jacket  faced  with  crim 
son  silk,  and  caught  across  the  breast  with  crimson  cords 
which  confine  it  to  his  supple  form;  the  other  holds  the 
Thunderbolt,  half  unfolded.  His  face  is  toward  the  front 
hall  door.  The  morning  sun  shines  through  a  window  at 
his  left  and  falls  upon  it.  His  voice  is  audible  over  all 
the  house. 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  have  anything  especially  import 
ant  to-day,  except  an  engagement  at  ten — with  Mrs. 
Merton!" 


"THE  THUNDERBOLT  "SCOOPS"  THE  BREEZE. 


219 


The  words  were  clear,  distinct,  emphatic.  Searle  could 
not  help  a  start  and  a  glance  toward  the  parlor  door.  Per 
haps  it  was  only  fancy,  the  whispered  buzz  of  exclamation 
which  came  back  to  his  ears  along  the  hall: 

"  Did  you  hear  that?     Mrs.  Merton!     Shameless!  " 

Searle  looked  up  at  the  quiet,  sun-lit  face  before  him, 
and  a  smile  of  reassurance  came  to  his  lips. 

"You  are  going  to  see  Mrs.  Merton,  eh?"  said  Searle 
carelessly,  as  he  dropped  into  the  chair  the  other  pushed 
toward  him  when  they  had  entered  the  minister's  cosey 
sitting-room. 

"Yes,  indeed;  I  have  an  appointment  with  her  for  this 
morning,  which  it  would  never  do  to  delay  —  now  that  she 
is  in  trouble  especially." 

"You  know  her,  then?" 

"  Oh,  very  well,  indeed." 

"And  have  met  her  —  frequently,  I  suppose?  " 

"Years  ago,  yes;  but  I  had  not  seen  her  fora  long 
time  until  last  Sunday." 

"  She  was  at  church  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  came  into  my  study  after  the  service  — 
she  and  her  daughter,  who  was  only  a  baby  when  I  saw 
her  last." 

"  Do  you  remember  who  was  present  at  that  time  ? 
There  were  others  there,  I  suppose?" 

"  There  had  been  —  I  think  she  came  in  alone." 

"It  was  there  you  made  the  engagement  for  to-day?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  You  must  have  been  overheard  by  some  one,  as  that 
fact  is  alluded  to  —  or  at  least  hinted  at  —  in  the  Thunder- 


"  It  seems  so.     I  had  not  thought  of  it  before." 

Now  that  he  did  think  of  it,  he  remembered  that  Lilian 


220  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

had  more  than  once  alluded  to  it  in  their  conversation  the 
day  before. 

"  Have  you  any  idea  who  it  was?  "' 

Murvale  Eastman  did  not  answer.  Searle's  countenance 
gave  no  hint  that  he  noticed  his  silence. 

"  Who  is  she — this  woman — Mrs.  Merton,  I  mean  ?  " 
he  continued. 

"  Did  you  not  see  ?  Do  you  not  understand  ?  It  is  told 
so  plainly  I  thought  every  one  must  see  it." 

He  took  the  paper,  which  he  had  thrown  upon  the  pile 
of  letters  that  lay  on  the  desk  by  which  he  sat,  and  handed 
it  to  the  other,  crushing  it  together  so  that  his  thumb 
pointed  to  the  allusion  made  to  the  door-plate.  The 
journalist  read  it  with  that  practiced  ease  which  enables 
one  of  his  profession  to  extract  the  meaning  of  a  column 
at  a  glance,  allowed  his  eye  to  rest  a  moment  on  the 
strong,  shapely  thumb  which  held  the  paper  without  a 
trace  of  unsteadiness,  and  said,  raising  his  eyes  to  the 
minister's  face: 

"  Well  ?  " 

"Don't  you  see?" 

"An  odd  coincidence — certainly.* 

"  It  is  more  than  a  coincidence — she  is   Mrs.  Merton." 

"  A  widow,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"A  widow!  She  is  Mrs.  Merton— Mrs.  J.  Sandford 
Merton,  I  tell  you." 

He  spoke  with  that  natural  emphasis  one  uses  in  point 
ing  out  a  fact  he  is  surprised  that  another  has  missed. 
Not  a  muscle  of  Searle's  face  stirred;  there  was  only  a 
hint  of  new  light  in  his  eyes. 

"  You  know  what  you  are  talking  about,  I  suppose?" 

"  Know?"  The  tone  was  fresh  and  breezy.  "I  ought 
to  know;  I  married  them/' 


THE  THUNDERBOL  T  '  *  SCOOPS  "  THE  BREEZE.    2  2 1 

"Married- whom?" 

"The  late  Mr.  James  Sandford  Merton  and  the  woman 
who  now  occupies  his  former  residence.  More  than  that, 
I  baptized  their  child." 

"  But  Sandford  Merton  was  unmarried — or  supposed  to 
be.  How  did  it  happen?  Why  was  nothing  known  of 
it?  "  The  reporter's  tone  was  severe.  He  thought  he  was 
unearthing  one  of  those  follies  which  are  worse  than 
crimes. 

The  minister  turned  to  a  drawer  of  his  desk,  took  out 
a  small  flexible-covered  book  and  opened  it  to  a  particular 
place.  Turning  to  his  auditor  with  his  finger  between  the 
leaves,  he  said: 

"This  is  how  it  happened;  I  have  only  time  to  give 
you  the  outlines.  I  had  just  been  settled  over  a  church 
in  Colorado,  when  the  summer  vacation  came  and  my 
flock  scattered  to  the  mountains— some  for  health  and 
some  for  profit — pleasuring  and  prospecting,  you  know. 
I  went  to  Leadville  desiring  to  study  the  great  mining- 
camp  which  was  then  in  the  height  of  its  prosperity.  Tt 
was  crowded  with  all  sorts  of  greedy  seekers  for  wealth. 
I  made  myself  one  of  the  crowd,  so  far  as  appearance  was 
concerned,  at  least;  spent  my  days  in  wandering  about 
the  camp,  working,  prospecting,  observing — and  passed 
my  nights  '  on  the  sawdust '  with  the  rest  of  them.  Lodg 
ings  were  scarce  and  dear,  so  that  floor-room  and  sawdust 
were  the  ordinary  accommodations.  I  might  have  ob 
tained  better  quarters,  but  I  always  liked  to  rough  it — 
probably  because  I  was  never  under  any  necessity  to  do 
so.  For  some  reason — perhaps  because  I  did  not  indulge 
in  profanity — they  called  me  '  Parson.'  I  had  some 
thought  of  quitting  my  charge  and  taking  up  a  work  of 
my  own  among  that  rough  crowd,  and  have  often  regretted 


222  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

that  I  did  not.  I  think  I  like  common  men — strong  men. 
Somehow,  I  seem  to  understand  them — better  than  some 
do,  at  least. 

"  One  night  the  owner  of  the  '  shebang  '  in  which  I 
lodged  called  me  aside  and  asked  me,  with  many  winks 
and  shrugs,  if  I  could  '  manage  to  hitch  a  couple.'  He 
explained  that  there  was  a  man  in  the  house  who  wanted 
a  minister —  or  at  least  '  one  who  could  act  the  minister ' 
—to  perform  the  marriage  ceremony.  I  did  not  think  of 
the  significance  of  his  words  at  first,  and  when  I  did, 
thought  I  might  prevent  a  crime.  So  I  told  him  I  had 
frequently  performed  this  duty.  He  assured  me  the  man 
was  all  right — would  be  *  down  with  the  tin,'  and  all  that ; 
and  almost  before  I  had  time  to  think,  ushered  me  into 
another  room,  where,  in  the  presence  of  a  motley  crowd 
of  witnesses,  I  united  in  the  bonds  of  matrimony  a  man 
I  came  afterward  to  know  as  James  Sandford  Merton  and 
Letitia  Espey,  who  now  bears  his  name." 

"But  why  was  this  fact  so  long  concealed?"  asked 
Searle.  "  He  was  not  generally  supposed  to  have  a  wife." 

"No  one  had  any  suspicion  of  the  truth  until  just  be 
fore  his  death.  The  man  whom  I  united  in  wedlock  to 
this  woman  was  known  as  James  Sandford.  He  was  a 
noted  gambler  who  had  just  '  struck  carbonates,'  as  the 
saying  then  was  on  account  of  the  peculiar  character  of 
the  argentiferous  deposit  at  Leadville.  She  had  become 
enamored  of  him  as  a  school-girl.  He  was  a  highly-cul 
tured  and  attractive  man,  you  remember.  Her  parents, 
knowing  nothing  of  his  family  or  connections,  very  natu 
rally  objected  to  his  attentions  on  account  of  his  dissolute 
habits.  When  the  shaft  of  the  Evening  Star  reached 
'  carbonates '  and  became  at  once  worth  millions,  his  first 
act  was  to  telegraph  to  her  the  news  of  his  good  fortune ; 


THE  THUNDERBOLT  "SCOOPS"  THE  BREEZE.    223 

the  next  to  write  her  to  come  to  Leadville  and  be  mar 
ried.  She  was  young,  impulsive,  loved  the  man,  and  the 
course  her  people  had  pursued  had  roused  a  spirit  of  op 
position  rather  than  inclined  her  to  compliance  with  their 
wishes.  She  was  romantic,  too,  and  the  idea  of  marrying 
a  *  carbonate  prince'  of  fabulous  wealth,  and  reigning  a 
sort  of  barbaric  queen  of  beauty  among  the  heterogeneous 
population  of  the  great  mining-camp,  was  no  doubt  allur 
ing  to  the  girlish  fancy  of  one  not  accustomed  to  luxury. 
That  he  had  any  idea  of  contracting  a  legal  marriage  is 
hardly  to  be  supposed.  He  no  doubt  intended  it  to  be  a 
sham  ceremony  merely  to  satisfy  her  scruples.  I  doubt 
whether  many  of  the  spectators  believed  it  to  be  anything 
more.  She  was  a  very  beautiful  woman  —  she  is  still 
beautiful — and  he  did  not  mean  to  mar  his  pleasure  by 
awakening  her  fears  or  driving  her  to  despondency.  He 
wished  her  to  be  happy  in  order  that  her  happiness  might 
enhance  his  enjoyment.  He  probably  regarded  the  cere 
mony  as  a  roaring  farce,  though  I  did  my  best  to  make  it 
impressive ;  and  when  it  was  over,  wrote  a  certificate  on 
the  fly-leaf  of  a  little  copy  of  the  Testament  I  carried, 
and  required  the  parties  to  sign  the  same.  A  number  of 
the  audience  signed  it  also,  as  witnesses.  There  it  is." 

He  handed  the  book  to  Searle  as  he  spoke. 

"  It  is  a  cfude  enough  record,"  he  continued,  "  but  you 
will  find  there  some  names  which  have  since  "become 
pretty  well  known.  One  is  now  a  judge;  one  became  the 
governor  of  a  State ;  and  two  of  them  have  been  United 
States  Senators.  They  represent  a  good  many  millions 
now,  but  there  was  sawdust  on  all  their  backs  then.  I 
intended  to' have  made  the  bride  a  present  of  this  volume, 
but  circumstances  prevented.  I  left  the  camp  the  next 
morning  and  never  returned.  I  sent  her  by  mail  from 


224 


MURVALE  EASTMAN. 


Denver,  however,  a  duly-authenticated  certificate  of  her 
marriage. 

"  A  year  afterward  James  Sandford  disappeared.  Not  a 
trace  of  him  could  be  found.  He  left  his  wife  two  thou 
sand  dollars ;  informed  her  their  marriage  was  a  sham ; 
that  he  had  '  blown  in '  the  entire  sum  he  had  received  for 
his  share  of  the  Evening  Star,  except  four  thousand  dol 
lars,  of  which  he  left  her  half.  He  advised  her  to  make 
the  best  use  she  could  of  it,  as  she  would  never  see  him 
again.  Very  few  believed  these  statements,  which  he 
took  care  should  be  made  public.  Made  desperate  by 
this  exposure,  and  too  proud  to  appeal  to  the  sympathy 
of  her  people,  the  deserted  woman  came  to  the  place 
where  I  was  settled,  to  ascertain  whether  the  marriage 
was  a  fraud  or  not.  I  was  absent — camping  in  the  moun 
tains  with  a  friend  and  his  family.  Not  deterred  by  this 
unexpected  difficulty,  she  followed  our  trail  and  found  our 
camp  a  hospital.  I  was  delirious ;  my  friend,  his  wife,  and 
the  youngest  child,  a  boy,  were  also  prostrated  with  moun 
tain-fever,  which  was  epidemic  in  the  region  that  year. 
The  other  child,  a  girl  of  twelve,  was  the  only  one  able  to 
bring  water  from  the  spring  hard  by.  Mrs.  Merton  (Sand- 
ford  was  the  name  she  then  bore)  installed  herself  as 
nurse.  My  friend  and  his  boy  died. 

"  When  we  returned,  she  found  a  home  with  the  widow. 
There  her  child  was  born.  It  was  baptized,  and  the 
mother  joined  our  church.  Half  the  money  she  had  left 
she  spent  in  searching  for  her  husband.  Getting  no  trace 
of  him — she  had  in  fact  no  clew — she  came  East,  donned 
a  widow's  garb,  and  began  the  struggle  to  support  herself 
and  child.  I  heard  of  her  occasionally,  through  the  widow 
of  my  friend,  until  I  came  here.  After  that  I  knew  noth 
ing  of  her  until  I  saw  her  in  church  last  Sunday." 


THF.    J-IIUNDERBOLT" SCOOPS"  THE  BREEZE.    225 

"  How  does  it  happen  that  she  made  no  claim  to  rec 
ognition  during  Merton's  life?" 

"  She  was  unaware  of  his  identity.  You  see,  the  dash 
ing,  be-whiskered  gambler  of  Leadville  was  an  altogether 
different  person  from  the  smooth-faced  pattern  of  propriety 
who  loitered  about  the  exclusive  purlieus  of  the  Haut 
Ton  Club  and  worshiped  at  the  Golden  Lilies.  There  was 
always  something  familiar  about  him  to  me,  but  I  could 
never  exactly  place  him  in  my  memory.  I  doubt  if  he 
ever  knew  me  in  Leadville  by  any  other  name  than  'the 
Parson,'  which  in  miners'  slang  meant  nothing.  I  do  not 
know  that  he  had  ever  seen  me,  except  during  the  cere 
mony,  and  probably  my  appearance  had  changed  as  well 
as  his.  I  do  not  think  he  recognized  either  my  name  or 
person,  though  now  that  you  speak  of  it,  I  do  remember 
having  heard  that  he  opposed  my  call  to  the  Golden 
Lilies.  That  may  have  been  simply  because  of  the  lo 
cality  from  which  I  came,  however.  Of  course,  the  fear 
of  detection  must  have  been  constantly  before  him,  and 
probably  accounts  for  his  rather  secluded  life. 

"  It  was  not  until  I  received  a  letter  from  him  a  few 
weeks  before  his  death  that  any  suspicion  of  his  identity 
occurred  to  me.  You  will  observe  that  the  name  James 
Sandford,  attached  to  the  record  of  the  marriage  in  my 
book  here,  is  written  in  a  peculiar  manner;  the  second 
initial,  S,  being  made  first,  and  connected  by  a  back  stroke 
with  the  first,  J ;  and  the  two  names  completed  at  one 
effort  without  removing  the  pen  from  the  paper.  It  has, 
too,  a  peculiar  boldness  and  strength,  which  attract  at 
tention.  The  same  things  are  apparent  in  the  signature 
of  this  letter.  As  soon  as  my  eye  fell  on  it  the  truth 
flashed  upon  me.  The  resemblance  which  had  so  long 
haunted  me  became  at  once  distinct  and  positive.  Very 
15 


226  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

singularly,  I  learned  that  this  was  not  his  usual  signature; 
and  on  looking  through  the  church  records,  I  find  that 
whenever  he  signed  as  an  officer  of  the  church,  it  was  in 
a  strained,  angular  hand,  very  unlike  this  signature.  Per 
haps  the  fact  that  he  was  laboring  under  some  excitement 
on  account  of  the  strike  may  have  led  him  to  revive  the 
old  habit.  Association  of  ideas  often  produces  singular 
results,  and  the  riot  which  had  been  going  on  before  his 
window  all  day  when  this  letter  was  written,  must  have 
powerfully  stirred  the  latent  chords  of  memory  of  the 
rough  times  he  had  witnessed  at  Leadville,  when  he  bore 
the  name  of  James  Sandford." 

"  How  did  Mrs.  Merton  learn  of  this?  " 

"  I  telegraphed  at  once  to  the  lady  with  whom  she  had 
lived  in  Colorado.  She  had  lost  sight  of  her;  so  I  put  an 
advertisement  in  the  Herald  which  brought  her  here  in 
time  to  attend  her  husband's  funeral.  Perhaps  she  saw 
him  before  his  death — I  do  not  know  about  that." 

"  And.  that  is  all  the — the  acquaintance  you  have  had 
with  her?" 

"  Every  bit.  I  have  often  felt  ashamed  for  having  done 
so  little  in  acknowledgment  of  my  obligations  to  her. 
Many  women,  finding  us  in  the  condition  she  did,  would 
have  left  us  to  die.  So,  in  a  sense,  I  owed  her  my  life,  and 
would  have  been  glad  to  do  something  to  show  my  grati 
tude  ;  but  she  is  not  one  for  whom  it  is  easy  to  do  favors." 

"  You  do  not  know  where  she  has  been  since  she  left 
Colorado?" 

"  Haven't  the  least  idea." 

"  Nor  what  has  been  her  character  or  occupation?  " 

"  I  have  no  doubt  her  life  has  been  quite  above  re 
proach.  She  is  not  one  of  the  women  who  go  to  the  bad ; 
she  might  die  of  overwork  or  starve,  but  she  would  never 
deteriorate." 


THE  THUNDERBOL  T  "SCOOPS"  THE  BREEZE. 


227 


"  You  seem  to  have  great  confidence  in  her?  " 

The  journalist  watched  the  man  whom  he  had  been 
subjecting  to  such  searching,  but  unrecognized,  cross- 
examination,  with  an  expressionless  scrutiny  that  was  al 
most  breathless. 

"She  happens  to  be  one  of  the  few  women  I  can  un 
derstand — or  think  I  can,  at  least.  That  is  why  I  feel 
sure  of  what  she  would  do  under  given  circumstances." 

"  What  stand  are  you  going  to  take  in  regard  to  her — 
now?" 

"  I  am  going  to  go  and  ask  her  if  I  can  do  anything 
that  may  'to  her  do  ease,  or  grace  to  me,'  as  Shakespeare 
puts  it." 

"  You  realize,  of  course,  the  position  in  which  this  arti 
cle  puts  you  with  reference  to  her — in  the  public  estima 
tion?" 

He  touched  the  Thunderbolt,  which  had  fallen  to  the 
floor  between  them,  with  his  foot,  as  he  spoke. 

"Seeks  to  put  me,  you  mean?  Well,  yes — I  suppose  I 
do." 

"  You  know  that  if  you  visit  her  now,  such  an  act  will 
be  liable  to  misconstruction?  " 

"Probably:  just  as  the  fact  that  I  did  not  might  be 
considered  a  proof  of  guilt." 

"  So  you  persist  in  going?  " 

"Of  course,  man!  She  is  a  woman — a  good,  pure 
woman,  as  I  believe — a  Christian  woman,  battling  for 
her  good  name  and  her  child's  inheritance!  Have  I,  a 
Christian  minister,  any  right  to  stand  aloof  and  leave  her 
to  fight  it  out  alone?  " 

"  It  may  cost  you  a  good  deal — the  loss  of  your  posi 
tion — in  society,  perhaps  in  the  church." 

"So  much  the  more  reason   I  should  not  hesitate.      I 


22%  MURVALE  EASTMAN". 

might  truly  be  esteemed  a  coward  as  well  as  a  hypocrite 
if  I  did." 

"What  are  you  going  to  do  about— that?  "  nodding  to 
ward  the  Thunderbolt. 

"That!"  said  Eastman,  picking  up  the  paper  and 
glancing  at  it  with  a  peculiar  smile.  "Nothing.  Why?" 

"  You  ought  to  bring  suit — an  action  for  libel,  you  know 
— or  at  least  publish  a  denial." 

"  I  suppose  people  will  expect  something  of  the  kind." 

"  No  doubt ;  and  if  you  will  allow  me  to  say  so,  I  think 
you  owe  it  to  your  friends." 

"You  think  they  will  believe  those — those  imputations?" 

"Some  of  them,  no  doubt." 

"Do  you?" 

"Well— no— I  don't !  "—emphatically. 

"  Thank  you  " — laughing.  "  I  thought  not ;  you  are  too 
much  of  a  man." 

"But  others " 

"  Excuse  me ;  would  you  give  much  for  the  friendship 
of  a  man  who  would  believe  such  a  report  about  your 
self?" 

"Candidly,  I  wouldn't;  but  the  Church — you  know 
people  are  very  sensitive." 

"  Yes ;  the  smuttiest  sheep  wants  a  very  white  shepherd. 
I  suppose  Merton,  now,  would  have  been  greatly  shocked 
at  such  a  thing." 

"  But  ought  you  to  allow  the  Church  to  suffer  for  your 
misfortune?  " 

"  I  am  responsible  for  my  acts,  not  for  others'  supposi 
tions.  When  I  entered  the  ministry,  I  pledged  myself  to 
do  and  say  nothing  unbecoming  my  position  and  to  devote 
myself  to  the  Master's  work.  I  have  tried  to  do  so ;  and 
I  haven't  time  to  go  about  explaining  imaginary  appear- 


THE  TH  UNDERB  OL  T  ' '  SCO  OPS"  THE  BREEZE.    229 

.ances  or  throwing  stones  at  every  puppy  that  chooses  to 
flirt  mud  on  my  vestments.  I  am  not  responsible  for  men's 
suspicions  or  their  effect  on  the  church's  prosperity.  I 
will  try  and  steer  clear  of  evil  in  word  and  act,  and  the 
Lord  must  lookout  for  my  reputation,  if  indeed,"  he 
added  reverently,  "  it  be  a  matter  of  any  consequence  to 
him.  It  is  quite  possible  that  his  cause  may  be  better 
served  by  my  debasement  than  by  my  justification.  If 
so,  why  should  I  demur?  At  least  he  has  made  my  duty 
plain  in  this  matter.  If  I  should  fail  to  visit  Mrs.  Mer- 
ton  now,  it  would  be  a  cowardly  imputation  upon  one  of 
his  flock,  to  whom  he  has  sent  me  to  minister,  and  of 
whom  I  know  nothing  except  what  is  creditable  and 
worthy;  and  I  am  going — right  now  /" 

He  unbuttoned  the  velvet  smoking-jacket,  as  he  rose, 
and  stepping  into  his  bedroom,  came  back  in  a  moment, 
dressed  for  the  street. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  pleasantly,  "  I  quite  for 
get  to  ask  you  to  excuse  me.  I  suppose  there  is  nothing 
more?" 

"  Not  much,"  answered  Searle,  standing  hat  in  hand  be 
side  his  chair.  "  You  have  seen  the  Breeze?  " 

"  I  merely  glanced  at  it." 

"You  observed  that  it  did  not  have  any  of  that — that 
'rot 'in  it." 

"  I  noticed  that;  I  suppose  I  am  indebted  to  you." 

"On  the  contrary,  I  am  your  debtor,"  said  Searle,  his 
face  losing  its  professional,  non-committal  aspect,  and 
lighting  up  with  pleasure.  "  I  came  around  this  morn 
ing  to  make  my  acknowledgments." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  I  saved  the  Breeze  from  making  a  bad  *  break '  last 
night  in  this  matter  and  was  made  managing  editor  in 
consequence  this  morning." 


230  MURFALE   EASTMAX. 

"  Accept  my  congratulations.  If  I  have  to  leave  the 
Golden  Lilies,  I  shall  come  to  you  for  a  job." 

"  You  shall  have  it,  if  the  Belt  and  Cross-Cut  don't 
outbid  us.1' 

The  two  men  laughed  as  they  shook  hands.  They  were 
as  unlike  as  possible,  but  they  understood  each  other. 

"And  now,''  continued  Searle,  "how  much  are  you 
going  to  allow  me  to  publish  of  what  I  have  learned  yes 
terday  and  to-day?" 

"  That  depends,"  answered  the  minister,  "  entirely  on 
yourself.  You  are  a  better  judge  than  I  of  what  ought 
to  be  said,  under  the  circumstances.  You  know  my  sen 
timents,  and  I  leave  the  matter  in  your  hands.  So  far  as 
I  am  concerned,  I  have  nothing  to  conceal.  I  have  not 
always  been  wise,  but  I  have  tried  to  be  honest.  As  for 
Mrs.  Merton,  I  have,  of  course,  no  right  to  authorize  you 
to  publish  her  story.  You  had  better  see  her  or  Metziger 
about  that." 

"  Would  you  object — I  mean  do  you  suppose  she  would 
consider  it  an  intrusion — if — if  I  should  accompany  you 
— now — to  call  upon  her,  you  know?  " 

The  hardened  reporter  actually  blushed  as  he  faltered 
this  request.  He  was  so  afraid  that  his  auditor  would 
see  through  his  transparent  stratagem,  and  understand 
that  he  did  not  want  him  to  go  alone.  But  the  simple- 
hearted  minister  did  not  imagine  that  the  request  was 
proffered  for  his  own  sake,  and  that  the  Master  whom  he 
had  just  bluntly  declared  must  look  out  for  his  reputation, 
was  taking  heed  for  his  servant's  good  name,  while  he 
performed  his  duty  unmindful  of  the  consequences  to 
himself. 

"  I  am  sure  she  would  be  glad  to  see  you,  and  I  should 
be  glad  to  make  you  acquainted ;  you  are  certain  to  like 
each  other,"  he  answered. 


THE  THUNDERBOL  T  ' '  SCOOPS  "  THE  BRF.EZE.    2 3 1 

In  his  heart  Murvale  Eastman  said :  "  I  am  glad  of  this ; 
it  will  be  a  great  advantage  to  her;  and  I  shall  feel  as  if 
she  were  not  so  much  alone  in  this  struggle.  Now,  if 
Lilian  will  go  with  me  to  see  her,  it  will  make  her  task 
easier  still." 

What  a  blunderer  he  was,  to  be  sure !  Almost  the  last 
thing  he  had  done  the  night  before,  in  the  exuberance  of 
his  delight,  was  to  write  a  note  to  Lilian  asking  her  to  go 
with  him  to  call  upon  Mrs.  J.  Sandford  Merton !  Surely  such 
a  man  needed  the  special  watch-care  of  heaven;  and  this 
guardianship  he  received  all  unconsciously  to  himself  when, 
ten  minutes  later,  he  rang  the  bell  at  Mrs.  Merton's  door 
and  was  ushered  into  her  presence  with  the  managing  editor 
of  the  Morning  Breeze.  The  Press  had  extended  its  pro 
tection  to  the  faithful  but  imperiled  representative  of  the 
Church. 


"Good-by,"  said  Searle  as  he  shook  hands  with  Murvale 
Eastman  on  the  street  corner  an  hour  afterward.  "  I  wish 
I  could  tell  you  how  much  I  respect  you — how  I  like  you, 
in  fact.  There's  not  many  men  I  care  for,  but  it's  done 
me  good  to  know  you — lots  of  good." 

There  was  a  hint  of  moisture  in  the  fellow's  eyes  and  a 
tremor  in  his  tone  that  surprised  the  young  minister. 

"  I  don't  belong  to  any  church — never  did,"  he  con 
tinued  impetuously,  "but  I  want  to;  I  want  to  join  the 
Golden  Lilies — if  you'll  let  me — me  and  my  wife.  I  don't 
know  much  about  doctrine,  but  I  believe  in  religion- 
such  religion  as  yours,  that  is.  I  don't  know  as  I've  got 
much  of  it  myself,  but  I'd  like  to  have  more,  and  I — I 
want  you  to  help  me — if  you  can. 

"  Don't  trouble  yourself  about  this  matter,"  he  con 
tinued,  jerking  his  thumb  over  his  shoulder  toward  Mrs. 


232  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

Merton's  residence.  "She's  all  right;  I  know  a  good 
woman ;  can't  anybody  take  me  in  on  that  line  of  goods. 
We'll  manage  that  matter — don't  you  be  afraid — Metziger 
and  I.  The  Thunderbolt  will  find  out  they're  at  the 
wrong  end  of  the  gun.  We'll  attend  to  her,  too.  Met- 
ziger's  got  some  clients — ladies,  you  know— and  there's 
his  wife  and  mine,  and  my  sister — wife  of  a  bank  presi 
dent — and  perhaps  the  'old  man's,'  too — sure,  if  I  can 
get  a  minute  with  her.  Oh,  we'll  straighten  this  out! 
There's  my  car!  Good-by." 

He  shook  the  minister's  hand  again,  swung  upon  a 
passing  car,  and  ten  minutes  later  was  in  consultation  with 
his  subordinates  on  the  staff  of  the  Breeze. 

Murvale  Eastman  stood  looking  after  him  with  a  heart 
full  of  grateful  surprise.  He  thought  as  he  walked  home 
ward  what  a  mistake  it  is  to  say  that  the  age  of  chivalry 
is  past.  The  knights  do  not  now  wear  helmets  and  carry 
swords,  but  wear  derby  hats,  whistle  for  street-cars,  and 
fight  dragons  whose  leaden  teeth  are  fastened  on  great 
cylinders  which  crush  and  tear  sheets  of  milk-white  paper, 
and  stamp  black  lies  and  foul  scandals  thereon.  The 
self-forgetful  dunce  never  thought  to  add  that  they  some 
times  wear  chimney-pots  and  white  neck-ties,  too! 

The  city  was  struck  dumb  with  amazement  later  in  the 
day,  when  the  evening  papers  announced  that  "  Mrs.  Met 
ziger,  wife  of  the  eminent  lawyer,  Mrs.  Musgrove,  the 
banker's  lady,  Mrs.  Windvale,  the  wife  of  the  proprietor 
of  the  Breeze,  and  Mrs.  Percy  Searle,  the  wife  of  the  new 
editor  of  that  journal,  called  to-day  upon  Mrs.  Merton ;  " 
and  expressed  the  "fear  that  one  of  our  distinguished 
morning  contemporaries  has  made  an  unfortunate  mis 
take." 


DODGING    THE  BLOW.  233 


CHAPTER  XX. 

DODGING    THE    BLOW. 

WHEN  he  reached  home,  Murvalt  Eastman  found 
awaiting  him  a  note  from  Lilian  Kishu.  He  seized  upon 
it  eagerly,  not  doubting  that  it  contained  fresh  evidence 
of  her  love.  He  did  not  faint  when  he  had  read  it, 
though  his  lips  were  ashy  as  he  laid  it  back  upon  the  desk 
and  sat  down  to  think  what  it  might  mean  to  him.  It 
was  very  brief,  merely  informing  him  of  her  desire  that 
the  engagement  between  them  should  terminate.  She 
gave  no  reason,  asked  no  explanation,  returned  no  keep 
sakes,  and  required  the  surrender  of  none  on  his  part. 
It  was  a  very  diplomatic  note,  offering  no  loop-hole  for  re 
ply,  and  which  would  yet  have  provoked  to  resentful  pro 
test  a  man  of  less  exalted  regard  for  female  character. 

As  a  fact,  the  letter  was  more  the  result  of  dissatisfac 
tion  than  lack  of  confidence  in  her  betrothed.  She  wanted 
to  love  Murvale  Eastman.  She  admired  and  esteemed 
him  above  all  other  men ;  there  was  no  doubt  of  that:  but 
did  she  love  him?  Had  she  that  passionate  longing  for 
his  companionship  that  would  make  his  presence  elysium 
and  his  absence  a  positive  bereavement?  Would  she 
rather  pass  her  life  with  him  than  with  any  other?  Had 
she  complete  content  in  his  presence?  Did  her  heart  in 
dorse  the  verdict  of  her  brain?  Why  did  she  always 
wish  him  a  little  different  from  what  he  was?  These 
questions  troubled  her. 


MURVALE  EASTMAN, 

She  had  been  torn  with  jealousy  on  account  of  the  con 
versation  she  had  overheard  between  Murvale  and  Mrs. 
Merton,  of  which  she  had,  half-unconsciously,  given  her 
father  a  hint  in  her  anxiety  to  discover  the  identity  of  the 
beautiful  lady.  Her  lovers  manner  in  their  conversation 
upon  the  subject,  however,  set  her  suspicion  entirely  at 
rest.  Whatever  might  be  the  relation  between  him  and 
the  lady  in  black,  on  whose  supposed  intimacy  with  the 
young  minister  the  Thunderbolt  had  based  its  sensational 
exposd  of  his  hypocrisy  *and  unworthiness,  Lilian  Kishu 
felt  perfectly  confident  that  time  would  show  it  to  have 
been  not  only  without  fault  on  his  part,  but  entirely  cred 
itable  to  him.  She  even  wished,  and  almost  expected, 
that  her  unexplained  dismissal  would  bring  him  to  her 
full  of  angry  resentment  at  the  imputations  cast  upon  him, 
imperiousy  demanding  the  retraction  of  her  words  and 
the  renewal  of  their  plight.  To  such  a  demand  she 
would  have  yielded  glad  obedience.  She  liked  manhood, 
power,  and  a  love  that  would  not  brook  denial. 

Lilian  Kishu  was  not  mercenary.  She  liked  money  for 
the  ease  and  comfort  it  brought,  but  she  had  as  little  sym 
pathy  with  her  fathers  worship  of  wealth,  as  with  her 
mother's  insatiable  desire  for  social  distinction.  She  ap 
preciated  to  a  high  degree  the  manly  qualities  of  Murvale 
Eastman.  She  felt  that  he  was  worthy  of  any  woman's 
devotion.  How  quietly,  with  what  undoubting  compo 
sure,  he  sought  the  path  of  duty  and,  when  found,  fol 
lowed  it  as  if  it  were  the  common  thoroughfare  of  life. 
But  when  he  had  accomplished  his  purpose — done  what 
he  conceived  to  be  his  duty — there  was  an  end  of  it  all. 
He  did  not  seem  to- care  whether  the  world  knew  how  he 
had  done  it,  or  even  whether  he  had  done  it  at  all. 

Ah!  if  he  would  not  be  quite  so  composed,  so  matter- 


DODGING    THE   BLOW.  235 

of-fact,  so  utterly  "of  course,"  in  regard  to  himself!  If 
he  would  only  act  the  hero  as  well  as  be  one!  Why  did 
he  not  beard  the  lion  and  compel  her  father  and  all  those 
who  were  scheming  against  him  to  desist,  to  apologize? 
She  did  not  doubt  that  he  could,  if  he  only  would.  Why 
did  he  not  let  the  world  know  how,  through  the  scorching 
heat  of  summer,  he  had  stood  day  after  day  for  a  month 
on  the  platform  of  a  car,  learning,  as  he  had  told  her,  not 
merely  to  do  a  driver's  work,  but  how  a  driver  feels  and 
what  he  thinks  while  doing  it?  Oh,  he  could  be  such  a 
splendid  man,  if  he  only  would!  And  she  would  so  de 
light  to  love  him  if  he  would  only  give  her  love  something 
to  cling  to,  to  feed  on! 

She  did  not  at  all  object  to  his  new  doctrines,  if  he 
would  only  vaunt  himself  a  little  on  account  of  them,  be 
a  little  heroic  about  the  matter.  If  he  would  only  de 
mand  approval ;  allow  her  to  extol  him,  and  to  feel  that 
her  acquiescence  was  imperiously  required  because  it  was 
his  act,  she  would  have  been  glad  to  acknowledge  his  right 
to  dictate  what  her  thought  should  be.  If  he  had  only 
asked  her  advice,  made  his  action  somehow  dependent 
upon  her  approval,  she  would  be  quite  content.  If  he 
would  even  be  jealous,  it  would  be  some  consolation. 
Only  think  of  his  driving  the  very  car  on  which  she  had 
ridden  with  Marsh,  day  after  day,  and  being  content  and 
happy  because  she  was  happy.  Yet  she  had  flirted  out 
rageously;  and  had  enjoyed  it,  too.  Frank  was  such  a 
pleasant  fellow!  Of  course,  she  did  not  mean  anything 
by  it.  What  was  Marsh  to  her  or  she  to  him?  Only  two 
children,  just  a  boy  and  girl  who  had  played  together  all 
their  lives,  and  flirted  with  each  other  ever  since  she  could, 
remember.  He  thought  a  good  deal  of  her;  she  knew 
that.  For  that  matter  she  liked  him,  too,  He  was  about 


236  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

the  most  agreeable  man  she  had  ever  known — for  an 
hour's  chat,  that  is.  That  was  all.  He  did  not  amount 
to  anything,  would  never  accomplish  anything.  He  was 
not  only  poor,  but  he  lacked  striking  qualities,  was  con 
tent  to  enjoy,  trather  than  do.  Yet  he  was  an  audacious 
lover.  He  would  run  away  with  her  in  a  moment  if  he 
had  but  half  a  chance.  She  was  certain  of  that,  and  was 
not  sure  she  would  not  enjoy  it  if  he  should.  But  as  for 
marrying  him — there  really  had  never  been  any  more 
prospect  of  that  than — than  of  her  marrying  the  Prince 
of  Moraydin  with  his  empty  coffers,  empty  head,  and 
empty  life,  which  had  so  long  been  at  her  disposal. 

She  had,  without  really  knowing  it,  the  universal  Ameri- 

•  can   contempt   for  the   man   who   does   not    achieve,   do 

•  something  for  himself.     It  is  the  inheritance  of  our  dis 
tinctive  individuality.     With  all  his  snobbery,  this  was  at 
the  bottom  of  Wilton  Kishu's  character.     He  could  not 
have  loved  himself  or  enjoyed  the  adulation  of  others,  if 
he  had  not   felt  that  it  was  in  great  measure  due  to  his 
well-attested  power  of  achievement.     He  had  wrested  for 
tune  from  adversity.     No  man  could  have  started  in  life 
with  poorer  prospects.     As  for  family,  all  he  ever  owed  to 
his  was  the  fact  of  life.      Education — he  had   what  he 
could  get.     How  he  got  it  he  could  hardly  tell ;  and  what 
was  its  extent  would  be  still  more  difficult  to  define.     He 
had  picked  up  knowledge,  especially  knowledge  of  men, 
as  he  went  along.     He  had  not  found  it  necessary  to  know 
many  things.     It  was  easier  and  cheaper,  he  thought,  all 
things  considered,  to  pay  other  people  to  do  his  thinking 
for  him.     What  he  did  not  know,  he  hired  some  one  to 
find  out,  and  then  used  the  knowledge  for  his  own  advan 
tage.     In  this  consisted   his  power;    upon  this  rock  his 
pride  was  builded.      Why  should   not   men  flatter  him? 


DODGING    THE  BLOW.  237 

Was  he  not  a  king  served  by  slaves,  lifted  up  on  their 
shields,  living  on  their  lives?  He  did  not  wear  a  crown; 
his  slaves  were  not  bound  by  statute  or  prescription.  So 
much  the  more  worthy  of  honor  the  man  who  compelled 
them  to  serve  by  sheer  force  of  his  own  brain,  without  any 
consciousness  of  subjection  on  their  part! 

He  was  one  of  the  lords  of  the  new  feudalism  whom 
the  marvelously-trained  slaves  of  science  blindly  serve — a 
coal  baron  for  whom  a  lean  and  hungry  geologist  had,  for  a 
pittance,  pointed  the  way  to  untold  treasures  stored  up 
by  the  Infinite  in  unknown  ages.  The  gnomes  of  the 
mine  fought  for  the  privilege  of  delving  in  eternal  night 
for  a  few  paltry  pence,  for  his  benefit.  Lawyers  taught 
him  to  reap  profitable  harvests  from  the  weakness  and 
neglect  of  others — harvests  their  own  hands  were  too  weak 
or  their  hearts  too  timid  to  permit  them  to  gather.  Liter 
ary  men  sold  him  their  wares,  erasing  the  trade-mark  of 
their  brain  and  allowing  them  to  go  forth  to  the  world 
under  the  stamp  he  affixed.  He  had  never  written  a  col 
umn  for  the  Thunderbolt  in  his  life,  but  he  was  regarded 
as  the  inspiring  genius  of  its  editorial  page.  Timid 
eunuchs  of  the  pen  brought  him  the  fruits  of  their  toil; 
unrecognized  genius  begged  him  for  the  opportunity  to 
wear  out  life  in  anonymous  endeavor.  His  hunchbacked 
secretary  was  a  familiar  who  dispensed  the  dole  he  grimly 
denominated  "generosity"  to  deluded  victims  on  whose 
brains  he  fed  fat  his  pride.  He  thus  had  become  a  man 
of  some  note  in  literature,  though  he  had  read  few  books 
and  could  not  have  written  in  a  decade  a  hundred  pages 
which  would  have  passed  the  censorship  of,his  own  man 
aging  editor.  Men  did  well  to  praise  one  who  had  con 
quered  so  many  realms,  and  none  the  less  that  he  had 
done  much  of  it  by  proxy.  Is  it  not  a  principle  of  the 
law  that  what  one  does  by  another  he  does  himself? 


238  MURTALR  EASTMAN. 

Wilton  Kishu  not  without  reason  was  proud  of  his 
achievements;  and  his  daughter,  knowing  but  half  the 
truth,  delighted  in  them  hardly  less  than  he.  In  this 
respect,  Murvals  Eastman  fully  gratified  her  pride.  His 
sturdy  manhood  went  squarely  across  the  line  of  pre 
cedent,  unconscious  of  the  fact  that  he  was  breaking  down 
the  most  sacred  barriers  and  trampling  on  theories  which 
had  grown  reverend  with  the  lapse  of  centuries.  But  why 
did  he  not  boast  of  his  achievements?  He  would  utter 
no  word  of  exultation  even  to  her.  Where  was  the  glory 
of  winning  battles,  unless  one  called  upon  the  world  to 
count  the  slain?  Why  rend  the  lion  if  no  one  were  to 
know  whose  hand  had  done  it? 

If  he  were  only  a  little  more  like  Marsh,  she  could 
worship  him ;  but  if  he  were,  he  would  never  take  her  de 
votion  for  granted  as  he  did.  She  would  teach  him  a 
lesson,  she  would  bring  him  to  her  feet,  if  she  had  to 
scourge  his  soul  to  do  it! 

So  when  informed  that  it  was  her  father's  wish  that  she 
should  sever  all  relations  with  the  young  minister,  she  as 
sented,  with  apparent  sorrow  and  many  sincere  expressions 
of  incredulity  in  regard  to  the  aspersions  cast  upon  him, 
but  with  secret  joy  at  the  thought  that  she  was  free.  She 
did  not  expect  to  be  free  for  a  great  while — she  did  not 
wish  to  be— but  she  meant  to  enjoy  her  freedom  and  give 
her  pursuer  a  long  chase  before  she  yielded  again.  So 
she  posted  at  the  same  instant  the  letter  which  told 
Murvale  Eastman  that  his  love  was  vain,  and  a  playful  note 
to  Marsh,  which  she  believed  would  bring  him  at  once  to 
her  side.  Her  mother,  thrifty  woman !  wrote  a  letter  to 
the  Prince  of  Moraydin,  advising  him  of  a  favorable 
change  in  the  situation,  and  counseling  that  he  make  hay 
while  the  sunshine  lasted. 


DODGING    THE  BLOW. 


239 


Mrs.  Kishu  was  not  a  woman  of  remarkable  gifts,  and 
had  not  found  it  as  easy  to  make  her  way  in  society  as 
her  husband  had  done  in  the  world  of  business.  Her  ed 
ucation  was  defective,  and  her  manner  hardly  better  than 
her  husband's.  But  wealth,  which  hides  a  man's  defects, 
is  apt  to  magnify  a  woman's.  So  while  the  world  fawned 
on  Mr.  Kishu,  it  was  wont  to  laugh  at  his  wife.  She  was 
almost  envious  of  her  daughter  for  taking  a  place  in  so 
ciety  she  could  not  hold.  People  spoke  of  "  Mr.  Kishu 
and  his  daughter,"  rarely  of  his  wife.  She  had  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  the  Prince  of  Moraydin,  who  had  flattered 
her  to  the  top  of  her  bent,  and  it  had  been  the  dream  of 
her  later  years  to  triumph  over  those  who  had  slighted  her, 
by  bringing  about  a  marriage  between  her  daughter  and 
this  impoverished  descendant  of  a  half-royal  house.  She 
wished  to  adorn  her  American  womanhood  with  the  title 
a  dissolute  king  had  bestowed  on  an  exacting  mistress! 
She  had  made  little  progress  in  this  direction  thus  far,  but 
she  was  not  easy  to  discourage. 

Murvale  Eastman  realized  none  of  the  influences  that 
shaped  the  conduct  of  his  betrothed.  Indeed,  he  hardly 
speculated  in  regard  to  her  motives  at  all.  She  was  his 
ideal.  He  was  ready  to  die  for  her,  but  he  could  not 
conceive  that  she  could  ever  desire  him  to  do  wrong  or 
abstain  from  doing  right.  Such  a  thought  would  have 
meant  to  him  disillusionment,  indeed,  but  hardly  disen- 
thrallment.  If  he  could  have  believed  the  truth  in  regard 
to  her,  he  might  have  ceased,  perhaps,  to  desire  her,  al 
though  he  would  have  gone  on  loving  what  he  had 
dreamed  her  to  be,  just  the  same.  But  he  did  not  once 
suspect  the  truth.  He  did  not  believe  that  the  pretended 
revelations  of  the  Thunderbolt  had  anything  to  do  with 
her  action.  He  was  sure  she  could  not  think  so  meanly 


240  MURVALE  EAST.VA.\'. 

of  him  as  to  give  credence  to  such  imputations.  No ;  she 
had  just  wakened  to  the  knowledge  that  she  could  not  be 
happy  in  a  life-union  with  him ;  this  was  his  thought.  He 
remembered  her  words  the  night  before.  He  saw  now 
that  he  had  misinterpreted  them.  They  were  only  an 
other  evidence  of  inherent  dissonance  between  their  na 
tures.  Now  that  he  thought  of  it,  there  had  been  many 
such.  He  wondered  that  he  had  never  recognized  them 
before.  She  had  sought  to  love  him,  believed  she  did,  no 
doubt,  but  finally  her  eyes  had  been  opened  to  the  con 
sciousness  that  life  with  him  would  not  be  that  intimate 
and  perfect  harmony  which  marriage  should  insure.  He 
did  not  blame  her.  He  was  inclined  to  believe  she  was 
right.  It  was  not  her  fault,  however.  It  was  not  his  fault, 
either.  He  had  sought  to  make  himself  in  all  things 
worthy  of  her  love.  The  very  thought  that  she  loved  him 
had  made  him  especially  careful  to  do  or  think  nothing 
unworthy  of  such  high  privilege,  and  had  stimulated  his 
wish  to  achieve  whatever  he  might  that  should  reflect 
honor  upon  her  choice.  His  was  a  knightly  and  chival 
rous  nature,  and  she  had  been  the  lady  for  whom  he  had 
been  glad  to  do  and  dare. 

She  had  been  a  potent  influence  in  the  resolution  he 
had  taken  to  study  the  life  which  was  about  him.  He 
had  often  dreamed  of  the  rapture  he  would  feel  should 
good  result  from  the  course  he  had  taken,  in  saying  to 
her: 

"  This  I  did  for  your  sake.  Your  beauty,  your  purity 
and  innocence  have  brought  happiness  to  these  homes, 
good  to  these  souls.  Because  of  the  inspiration  of  your 
love,  I  did  these  things,  and  the  fruits  of  my  endeavor  are 
the  tributes  of  my  love." 

This  was  what  he  had  meant  to  say  in  the  park  the 


DODGING    THE   BLOll*.  341 

day  before.  It  was  a  silly  notion,  but  love  makes  the 
best  men  fools,  and  very  often  all  the  more  foolish  because 
they  are  good  men  and  true,  who  cannot  measure  meaner 
natures ;  or  if  they  can,  have  put  their  love  upon  a  pin 
nacle  too  high  to  permit  them  to  believe  that  the  weak 
ness  of  common  humanity  can  ever  come  nigh  it. 

Had  Lilian  Kishu  been  a  man,  Eastman  would  have 
detected  and  perhaps  pitied  her  weakness.  He  might 
even  have  resented  it,  though  his  was  one  of  those  natures 
that  have  little  room  for  resentment. 

The  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  was  an  optimist,  not 
in  the  sense  of  believing  all  men  to  be  good,  but  in  be 
lieving  that  there  is  something  of  good  in  all  natures;  and 
he  counted  it  the  especial  duty  of  his  profession  to  find 
out  and  strengthen  this  inherent  tendency.  The  trouble 
was  that  he  had  never  thought  of  Lilian  Kishu  as  a 
human  being ;  he  had  only  dreamed  of  her,  as  a  woman, 
the  woman  he  loved,  the  woman  of  all  the  world  worthiest 
of  his  love.  He  came  nearer  than  anybody  else,  perhaps, 
to  a  just  appreciation  of  Wilton  Kishu;  but  he  neither 
feared  his  strength  nor  despised  his  weakness.  He  had 
no  desire  to  do  him  harm,  and  was  very  far  from  wishing 
to  humiliate  him.  He  only  wished  to  strengthen  the  bet 
ter  qualities  of  his  nature,  and  make  him  an  instrument 
of  good  to  others.  He  was  not  one  who  believed  that  re 
ligion  of  necessity  instantly  revolutionizes  a  man's  moral 
nature.  He  realized  that  an  essentially  mean  man  still 
remains  mean,  no  matter  how  sincere  his  Christian  belief 
and  experience  may  be ;  he  only  believed  that  Christian 
thought  and  experience  would,  especially  under  wise  and 
kindly  guidance,  make  him  gradually  less  mean  and,  little 
by  little,  subordinate  the  tendency  to  do  and  think  un 
worthy  things. 
16 


242  MURVALE   EASTMAK. 

This  was  what  growth  in  grace  meant,  to  him,  a  steady 
development  of  better  tendencies — not  a  miraculous  con 
dition,  but  a  natural  one — just  as  natural  as  God's  love. 
"Had  he  applied  the  same  reasoning  to  Lilian  Kishu,  she 
would  have  been  wax  in  his  hands,  would  have  recalled 
her  dismissal,  and  if  she  had  not  justified  his  ideal  would 
at  least  have  submitted  to  his  guidance.  But  he  never 
thought  of  her  as  an  imperfect  being.  She  satisfied  his 
desire ;  she  rested  his  vision,  and  the  soul  which  he  fan 
cied  informed  her  loveliness,  fulfilled  all  his  longing  for 
companionship.  He  thought  of  her  as  the  twin  of  his 
soul,  the  complement  of  his  simple,  upright  nature.  And 
it  is  by  no  means  certain  that  she  was  not,  if  he  could  only 
have  discerned  the  truth  in  regard  to  her. 

This  power  was  denied  him.  As  he  paced  his  room  dur 
ing  the  long  hours  of  the  night  that  followed,  he  never 
once  thought  of  appeal  from  her  decision,  any  more  than 
he  thought  of  the  watchful  scrutiny  of  the  landlady,  who 
counted  his  steps  and  construed  his  sleeplessness  ac 
cording  to  the  measure  of  her  own  moral  nature.  She 
could  only  translate  the  pitiful  wofulness  of  those  wake 
ful  hours  on  the  hypothesis  of  conscious  guilt ;  for,  unlike 
her  lodger,  she  not  only  believed  in  inherent  evil,  but  she 
did  not  believe  in  inherent  good. 

To    Murvale    Eastman,   this    blighting   of   his    fondest \ 
dream  was  only  a  supreme  affliction  which  was  to  be  borne    / 
manfully  and  uncomplainingly.     He  no  more  thought  of 
murmuring  at  it  than  he  would  at  any  other  inscrutable 
dispensation    of    Providence.     He  would    have    suffered 
hardly  more  had  death  robbed  him  of  the  object  of  his 
devotion ;  but  even  then  he  would  not  have  murmured. 

?o  now,  the  rejected  lover,  not  less  bereft,  folded  away 
the  visible  mementoes  of  his  lost  love ;  turned  down  the 


DODGhVG    THE   BLOW.  243 

brightest  page  in  his  memory,  and  hopeless  but  resolute, 
sought  with  anxious  consideration  and  agonizing  prayer  to 
find  the  path  of  duty.  All  his  thought  had  so  centered 
about  his  love,  that  his  whole  environment  seemed  ani 
mate  with  its  memory.  How  could  he  ever  again  offici 
ate  in  the  Golden  Lilies!  Every  nook  was  alive  with 
some  reminiscent  thought  of  her.  The  Divine  Head,  in 
stead  of  pitying  love  for  all,  would  look  down  upon  him 
now  in  sorrowful  commiseration  of  his  weakness.  Even 
the  streets  were  thronged  with  cruel  memories.  The  new, 
grand  work  he  had  undertaken  was  consecrated  to  her  • 
almost  as  much  as  to  heaven.  They  had  never  been  much 
together,  but  she  had  never  been  absent  from  his  thought 
since  he  had  first  looked  into  her  eyes.  He  had  always 
dreamed  of  her  in  his  work  and  on  his  walks.  Could  he 
bear  to  face  those  mocking  ghosts  of  memory?  He  was 
afraid  he  could  not.  It  seemed  to  him  that  men  would 
read  in  his  face  the  sorrow  lurking  in  his  heart.  How 
could  he  meet  his  friends  upon  the  morrow,  how  face  his 
enemies?  What  could  he  say  to  excuse  his  depression, 
his  gloom?  He  could  not  be  silent  and  he  was  too  proud 
to  tell  the  truth.  He  felt  that  he  must  go  away.  Hex 
must  have  some  time — a  little  time  at  least — alone  with 
God  and  nature.  He  did  not  mean  to  shirk  his  duty — 
did  not  wish  to  hide  away  from  men — but  only  to  be  alone 
long  enough  to  determine  what  was  his  duty  and  how  he 
should  best  perform  it. 

But  where  could  he  go?  His  eyes  fell  upon  his  fishing- 
tackle  hanging  on  the  wall,  as  he  asked  himself  this  ques 
tion,  and  his  thought  went  back  to  the  last  day's  sport  he 
had  enjoyed  with  it.  He  remembered  a  lonely  stretch  of 
river  where  there  were  few  houses,  and  the  clear  stream 
flashed  and  sparkled  as  it  raced  over  rocky  shoals  with 


244  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

quiet  stretches  between,  full  of  dark,  deep  haunts  where 
the  gamy  bass  loves  to  hide.  The  timber  had  been  cut 
away;  the  rocky  hillsides  were  almost  bare  save  where 
the  undergrowth  timorously  clung  and  hid  among  the  gray 
granite  ledges.  It  was  nature — stern,  denuded,  pitiless 
nature — but  though  man  had  marred  it,  he  had  not  re 
mained  to  destroy  its  charm.  He  himself  had  blundered 
on  it — if  it  is  ever  a  blunder  to  follow  a  sportsman's  in 
stinct — and  in  the  bright  autumn  weather,  wading  the 
ripples  and  casting  from  the  shore  into  the  shaded  pools, 
had  passed  a  day  full  of  hope,  fear,  and  triumph,  a  day 
still  rich  in  memories  of  straining  rod,  clicking  reel,  and 
hissing  line,  of  thrilling  strikes,  doubtful  struggles,  disap 
pointing  escapes,  and  gratifying  captures.  How  pleasant 
had  been  his  thought  when,  weary  but  successful,  he 
sought  at  night  the  shelter  of  a  lonely  farm-house !  How 
grateful  was  the  silence,  how  restful  the  thought  of  isola 
tion  from  the  world!  Thither  he  would  go,  coming  back 
only  in  time  for  his  Sabbath  service.  He  hunted  up  a 
time-card,  and  found  that  a  train  which  left  in  the  gray 
of  early  morning  would  take  him  to  his  destination  in  sea 
son  for  a  day's  sport. 

He  took  down  his  rod,  examined  the  reel,  tested  the 
tips,  turned  over  the  pages  of  his  fly-book,  hunted  up  his 
sporting-suit,  not  forgetting  his  long  wading-boots,  threw 
a  few  needed  things,  including  a  book  or  two,  into  a  hand 
bag,  pushed  aside  the  heap  of  unanswered  letters  on  his 
desk,  and  wrote  two  notes,  one  to  Searle  and  another  to 
Metziger,  informing  them  of  his  determination,  and  telling 
them  where  he  might  be  found  in  case  it  should  be  neces 
sary  to  communicate  with  him.  Then  he  wrote  another. 
Over  and  over  again  he  essayed  to  frame  a  satisfactory 
reply  to  that  delicately-perfumed  note.  He  loved  Lilian 


DODGING   TH'E  BLOW,  245 

Kisliu  too  tenderly  to  utter  an)*  reproach,  and  was  too 
honest  to  assume  a  sentiment  that  he  did  not  feel.  His 
effort  finally  resolved  itself  into  two  short  sentences: 

"  I  have  received  your  letter.  It  is,  of  course,  a  matter 
solely  for  your  decision/' 

Then  he  went  softly  out,  so  softly  that  even  the  watch 
ful  landlady  did  not  hear  him,  dropped  the  letters  into  the 
first  mail  box,  and  long  before  the  slumbering  city  awoke 
was  whirled  away  toward  the  harbor  of  refuge  he  had 
chosen. 

As  the  train  left  the  station,  he  heard  the  cry  of  the 
earliest  newsboy: 

"  Breeze — Morning  Breeze!  All  about  the  Rev.  East 
man  and  the  pretty  widow!  " 

He  was  grateful  then  that  he  had  escaped  before  the 
streets  became  verberant  with  such  shrill  echoes.  He 
never  thought  of  the  wisdom  or  unwisdom  of  his  course 
or  how  it  would  appear  to  others.  For  once  in  his  life 
he  had  thought  only  of  himself,  and  simply  ran  away  from 
AY  hat  he  feared  he  was  not  brave  enough  to  endure  with 
composure.  Had  he  considered  only  his  personal  advan 
tage,  he  could  not  have  acted  more  wisely.  There  are 
times  when  absence  is  the  stoutest  champion  innocence 
can  have.  The  landlady  heard  the  cry  and  made  haste 
to  learn  what  new  infamy  had  been  alleged  against  the 
lodger  whose  restless  steps  had  robbed  her  of  slumber. 
Already  she  was  questioning  whether  she  would  not  ask 
him  to  give  up  his  room.  He  was  a  model .  lodger,  but 
the  reputation  of  her  house  must  be  maintained. 

When  she  had  read  the  three  leaded  columns  in  which 
the  new  editor  of  the  Breeze  had  told  with  modest  fervor,  and 
yet  with  discretion  and  apparent  reluctance,  the  story  of 
his  new-found  friend,  with  just  a  hint  of  regret  that  inex- 


246 

cusable  misapprehension  had  linked  his  name  discredita 
bly  with  a  lady  who  was  destined  to  be  an  ornament  to 
the  city's  best  society,  the  good  woman's  cheek  was  wet 
with  tears.  She  went  and  rapped  lightly  on  her  lodger's 
door,  intending  to  tell  him  that  his  breakfast  would  be 
kept  warm  and  that  he  would  better  sleep  late. 

The  empty  room  frightened  her.  She  feared — she 
hardly  knew  what  she  feared — but  before  night  it  was 
known  throughout  the  city  that  Murvale  Eastman  had 
again  disappeared,  leaving  no  hint  of  his  destination.  The 
only  information  the  Thunderbolt  had  upon  the  subject 
was  'an  indignant  denial  that  there  was  any  engagement 
between  the  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  and  Lilian  Kishu. 
There  were  a  few  to  whom  this  paragraph  gave  a  key  to 
Murvale  Eastman's  flight. 

If  the  tide  of  public  sentiment  had  set  strong  against 
the  young  divine  the  day  before,  the  refluent  wave  was 
overwhelming.  It  was  well  for  him  that  he  was  not  pres 
ent  to  feel  its  surge.  Letters,  telegrams,  invitations, 
came  pouring  in.  The  callers  were  numbered  by  scores. 
The  world  was  making  apology  for  the  wrong  it  had  done 
him.  Praise  is  far  more  perilous  than  blame;  and  the 
Power  on  whose  wisdom  Murvale  Eastman  relied,  all  un 
consciously  to  him,  had  again  saved  him  from  danger^of 
demoralization.  The  flood  of  adulation  poured  harmX 
lessly  by,  while  nature  built  up  and  strengthened  the 
dikes  of  manly  purpose. 


DAWN  IN    THE   DESERT.  247 


CHAPTER   XXL 

DAWN    IN    THE    DESERT. 

THERE  is  nothing  more  remarkable  in  human  nature 
than  the  strength  it  gains  from  solitude.  The  human 
soul  is  like  the  mold  in  which  a  statue  is  cast.  The  glow 
ing  stream  of  molten  metal  may  come  fervid  and  flashing 
in  a  hundred  fiery  rills  and  fill  full  the  waiting  matrix,  but 
the  equilibrium  of  absolute  repose  is  necessary  to  enable 
the  seething  mass  to  harden  into  form.  So  it  is  with  a  man 
into  whose  life  the  streams  of  thought  have  poured  until 
heart  and  brain  ache  with  overburdening  fullness,  when 
woes  oppress  and  the  demands  of  duty  overwhelm,  when 
hope  is  almost  lost  and  doubt  overshadows  the  future — 
then  the  soul  cries  out,  with  instinctive  knowledge  of  its 
need,  for  silence,  isolation,  and  the  readjustment  of  the 
mental  equilibrium  which  can  be  secured  only  in  that  moral 
vacuum  where  the  subtle  magnetism  of  God  and  nature 
alone  is  felt. 

It  is  for  this  reason  that  the  greatest  natures  have  al 
ways  been  lovers  of  solitude.  Shallow  ones  do  not  re 
quire  it;  they  need  often  to  be  refilled.  The  babble  of 
life's  trickling  rill  is  enough  for  them.  If  it  brings  a 
graver  mystery  than  they  can  solve,  its  wofulness  simply 
overwhelms  or  runs  by  them  without  strain  or  peril.  Great 
souls  cannot  avoid  great  thoughts.  They  cannot  put  by 
the  problems  that  confront  humanity.  The  woes  that 
threaten  nations  and  peoples  they  cannot  cast  aside,  nor 


248  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

save  themselves  from  the  impulse  to  lessen  or  to  heal. 
To  such  natures  solitude  is  the  antechamber  of  the  In 
finite,  the  place  where  the  soul  renews  its  strength.  They 
may  mingle  with  the  multitude,  may  feel  its  sorrows,  share 
its  joys,  and  seem  to  be  of  its  life ;  but  when  the  heart  is 
full  of  molten,  glowing,  hissing  thought,  they  must  have 
silence,  absolute  exclusion  from  all  disturbing  forces,  or 
the  mold  is  broken,  distorted,  or  perhaps  consumed,  and 
the  statue  which  should  have  been  a  thing  of  beauty 
comes  forth  shattered,  malformed — a  shapeless  monster, 
fit  only  to  be  broken  up,  refined,  and  lost  in  the  glare  of  a 
new  blast.  Life  is  the  field  of  action  in  which  the  world's 
heroes  win  immortality,  but  the  armor  of  proof  they  wear 
and  the  weapons  they  wield  must  be  forged  in  solitude. 
In  the  Norse  legends,  the  maker  of  the  weapon  of  magic 
temper  wrought  always  underground,  where  even  his  ham 
mer-strokes  could  not  be  heard  by  the  world. 

The  greatest  of  the  world's  lives  have  gathered  strength 
for  their  work  from  solitude.  Moses  in  the  wilderness  of 
Horeb  first  learned  the  will  of  the  Divine,  and  in  solitude 
upon  the  Mountain  of  the  Law  was  enabled  to  define  and 
adjust  the  forces  of  the  weak  and  debased  Israelites,  so 
as  to  develop  the  noble  fabric  of  the  Jewish  republic  and 
sow  the  seeds  of  Christian  civilization.  The  Christ  lived 
with  humanity  enough  to  feel  its  impulses,  but  in  se 
clusion  taught  his  disciples  the  mystery  which  was  to  re 
deem  and  purify  the  earth-life,  and  communed  with  the 
Father  in  solitude.  Buddha  and  Mahomet  generated  in  soli 
tude  the  forces  which  have  for  ages  controlled  the  thought 
and  life  of  nations.  In  the  silence  of  the  monk's  cell 
Luther  grew  into  the  thought-shaper  of  centuries.  Crom 
well,  diking  the  marshes  where  the  hissing  sea  broke 
through,  gathered  strength  to  say,  "  Take  away  that  fool's 


DAWN  IN    THE   DESERT.  249 

bauble! "  Washington  grew  to  the  stature  of  immortality 
in  the  shadow  of  the  forests  he  explored,  and  Lincoln 
mingled  with  men  only  to  escape  from  a  brooding  sense 
of  hopeless  impotency  to  perform  the  wonders  which  in 
solitude  his  perfervid  nature  saw  waiting  to  be  done. 

To  this  quality  of  human  nature,  perhaps,  is  due  the 
fact  that  few  of  those  who  have  beneficently  affected  the 
world's  life  have  been  what  we  term  "practical "  men. 
The  "practical"  man,  the  ideal  of  to-day's  aspiration  on 
which  we  are  so  assiduously  shaping  to-morrow's  life,  is 
not  he  who  evolves  great  ideas;  but  simply  one  who  bends 
the  forces  of  nature,  the  tendencies  of  society,  or  the  ac 
cidents  of  life  to  mere  personal  advantage.  Fulton,  who 
invented  the  steamboat,  Stephenson.  who  created  the  rail 
way,  and  thousands  of  others  who  have  unfolded  the  pow 
ers  of  nature  by  the  employment  of  which  the  universal 
life  is  blessed  with  new  powers  and  hitherto  undreamed  of 
joys — these  are  little  esteemed  in  comparison  with  the 
"practical"  men  who  have  levied  toll  upon  such  inven 
tions  and  compelled  the  world  to  pay  tribute  to  their 
greed.  We  build  monuments  to  them  sometimes — when 
they  are  dead ;  but  we  are  apt  to  sneer  at  them  while  liv 
ing.  The  buccaneer  who  steals  their  thoughts  and  makes 
merchandise  of  their  blood  is  far  more  highly  esteemed. 
Even  those  who  redeem  nations  and  establish  new  civili 
zations  are  accounted  bad  models  for  the  youth  of  to-day 
unless  they  are  also  misers  and  plunderers. 

Columbus  was  only  a  poor,  feeble  "  crank  "  who  showed 
the  way  by  which  more  "practical"  men  grew  rich. 
There  is  among  the  youth  of  the  present  a  hardly  con 
cealed  contempt  for  Lincoln  because  he  was  content  to 
be  poor,  and  of  Grant  because  he  was  fitted  rather  to  save 
a  nation  than  to  outshine  others  in  the  struggle  for  wealth. 


250  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

A  mother  of  to-day  would  count  herself  unfortunate,  if  not 
accursed,  to  know  that  her  son  would  be  a  dreamer,  a 
forerunner,  a  Columbus,  a  Fulton ;  but  if  assured  that  he 
would  be  a  Cortez,  a  Pizarro,  a  bold  seizer  of  other  men's 
lands;  or  an  American  railway  magnate  or  millionaire 
monopolist — a  potentate  who  should  seize  the  treasures  of 
light  and  heat  and  power  which  God  has  treasured  up  for 
ages  against  the  hour  of  humanity's  need,  and  dole  them 
out  to  the  poor  for  pence  coined  from  their  sweat-drops  and 
blood-drops — ah!  such  a  prophecy  would  make  her  heart 
throb  with  joy,  and  once  made  known,  would  compel  her 
envious  sisters  to  greet  her  with  the  ancient  acclaim: 
"  Blessed  art  thou  among  women !  "  "  Practical "  men,  not 
heroic  ones,  are  the  ideal  of  to-day's  life.  Nay,  we  have 
gone  so  far  as  to  laugh  at  heroism  as  well  as  love.  "  Gold, 
hard  and  heavy  and  yellow  and  cold,'1  is  the  only  material 
out  of  which  To-day  constructs  the  standard  by  which  it 
measures  human  worth.  The  milled  edge  of  the  dollar  is 
the  accepted  unit  of  comparison  betwixt  soul  and  soul. 

We  know  that  the  man  of  great  wealth  is  rarely  one 
from  whom  humanity  derives  good,  never  the  one  from 
whom  it  derives  the  greatest.  Now  and  then  one  scat 
ters  his  massed  stores,  when  he  can  control  them  no  more, 
or  even  while  living  devotes  them  to  specific  uses  from 
which  good  may  come,  and  we  make  such  exceptions  an 
excuse  for  all  the  ills  resulting  from  the  selfishness  which 
finds  enjoyment  only  in  possessing  more  than  another. 

We  know  that  liberty,  intelligence,  justice,  and  all  those 
principles  of  equity  on  which  the  welfare  of  mankind  de 
pend,  owe  little  to  the  munificence  of  the  rich,  and  much 
to  the  persevering  efforts  of  those  to  whom  necessity  has 
taught  the  need  and  glory  of  self-sacrifice ;  that  it  is  from 
such  that  mental,  moral,  and  political  progress  springs,  and 
it  is  to  such  that  humanity  looks  for  their  perpetuation. 


DAWN  IN   THE  DESERT.  251 

We  know,  too,  that  woe  and  suffering  and  want  and 
crime  and  misery  rarely  arise  from  any  lack  of  beneficence 
on  nature's  part.  The  earth  yields  enough  for  all,  and 
hunger  and  want  prevail  largely^because  the  rich  circum-  • 
scribe  and  restrict  her  abundance  in  order  to  increase 
their  individual  excess.  Poverty  and  crime  might  be 
almost  eliminated  if  the  strong  were  willing  to  succor  the 
weak  and  stimulate  the  fainting  to  fresh  endeavor.(  Pov 
erty  and  crime  are,  in  truth,  only  the  scourges  by  which" 
God  seeks  to  drive  out  of  the  temple  of  the  human  heart 
— that  temple  in  which  the  Christ  ordained  that  the  All- 
Father  should  everywhere  be  worshiped — the  types  of 
greed  and  selfishness,  the  lusts  of  envy  and  dominion, 
which  make  the  Dollar  of  to-day  the  equivalent,  as  a 
symbol  of  power,  with  the  Sword  of  yesterday. 

The  feudalism  of  the  past  was  that  of  birth  and  rank. 
The  right  to  rule,  won  by  the  father,  descended  to  the  son. 
To-day  the  right  to  control  the  destiny,  ay,  the  very  lives 
of  more  thousands  than  were  ever  held  in  vassalage  by 
any  lord,  descends  by  inheritance  or  bequest  from  the 
master  of  millions.  The  nobility  of  wealth  to-day  repre 
sents  more  power  than  the  sword  ever  controlled.  Is  it 
less  dangerous?  Is  the  power  of  life  and  death  less  peril 
ous  because  the  weapon  it  wields  is  measured  by  Troy 
weight  rather  than  by  Avoirdupois?  The  rich  are  not  all 
bad,  nor  were  the  feudal  lords  all  tyrants.  The  nobility 
of  feudalism  no  doubt  represented  a  much  higher  level  of 
intelligence,  enterprise,  and  what  is  often  termed  public 
spirit,  than  those  who  were  subject  to  their  control.  They 
had  a  right  to  claim  to  be  the  best,  the  bravest,  the 
strongest,  the  sweetest  life  of  that  time.  The  trouble 
was  not  in  the  men,  but  in ^  the  power  they  represented, 
the  power  to  restrict  opportunity  and  compel  subservience. 


252 


EA  S  TMA  N. 


The  evil  lay  .in  the  power  of  the  few  and  the  helplessness 
of  the  many — the  ability  of  the  few  to  control  and  of  the 
need  of  the  many  to  serve.  It  matters  nothing  whether 
this  power  is  attested  by  the  crest  of  a  noble  or  the  seal 
of  a  corporation,  the  effect  is  the  same.  Whatever  pro 
motes  mastery  and  enlarges  the  domain  of  subserviency 
and  dependence,  that  imperils  liberty.  The  fact  that  he 
who  wields  this  power  is  a  saint  may  make  its  exercise 
less  irksome,  but  the  evil  is  enhanced  rather  than  dimin 
ished  thereby,  because  of  the  lethargy  which  results.  In 
justice  is  bad  enough,  but  submission  to  wrong  infinitely 
worse. 

Ah,  but  each  one  has  now  a  chance  to  be  the  greatest! 
Such  is  the  lottery  of  power  which  we  call  liberty!  There 
is  no  privileged  class,  we  say.  All  are  freebooters  on  the 
high  sea  of  prosperity.  A  short  life  and  a  merry  one  for 
us!  Here's  luck  for  the  man  at  the  top,  and  a  curse  for 
the  poor  devil  at  the  bottom!  Competition  cures  all  ills! 
What  if  men  are  crushed?  What  if  one  man  does  hold  a 
thousand  by  the  throat?  Have  they  not  the  same  right 
to  throttle  him  if  they  are  brave  enough  and  strong 
enough?  This  is  liberty!  This  is  civilization!  This,  we 
teach  our  children,  is  the  best  God  offers  or  Christ  prom 
ises  to  man!  Is  it  true?  We  know  it  is  false.  Never 
theless,  this  we  say  is  civilization.  It  differs  from  barbar 
ism  chiefly  in  the  fact  that  it  uses  daintier  weapons  and  its 
results  are  inheritable.  In  moral  and  purpose  it  is  the 
same.  Wilton  Kishu  is  the  type  of  its  best  results,  a  type 
much  more  highly  esteemed  than  that  represented  by  the 
silly  Murvale  Eastman,  who  ran  away  from  his  enemies, 
fled  from  the  crowded  city  to  determine  what  could  be 
done,  and  to  study  in  solitude  the  relations  of  his  own  in 
dividuality  to  the  common  welfare  and  advantage;  to  de 
termine,  in  short,  some  foolish  question  of  duty. 


DAWN  IN    THE  DESERT.  253 

It  is  nard  to  tell  how  a  man  arrives  at  conclusions  and 
solves  knotty  problems  without  consciously  thinking  of 
them  at  all.  Yet  it  is  one  of  the  most  familiar  facts  of 
every  man's  experience.  Murvale  Eastman's  brain  was  in 
a  whirl  when  he  sped  out  of  the  slumbering  city  on  his 
way  to  the  haunt  he  had  selected.  Lilian  Kishu,  the 
Golden  Lilies,  the  new  friends  he  had  made,  the  grand 
thoughts  he  had  meant  to  advocate,  the  sick  man  in  his 
study  to  whose  impassioned  words  he  owed  so  much,  the 
imputations  on  himself,  the  enemies  he  must  encounter, 
all  these  things  were  mingled  in  strange  confusion  in  his 
thoughts.  With  them,  too,  was  the  knowledge  that  the 
one  relative  who  had  any  interest  in  his  welfare  had  cast 
him  off.  His  aunt  had  notified  him  not  only  of  disinheri- 
son,  but  of  what  affected  him  much  more  keenly,  her  dis 
pleasure  at  his  conduct  and  distrust  of  his  personal  char 
acter.  There  was  something  ludicrous  about  the  weak, 
silly  woman's  threat  against  one  who  was  just  stripping  to 
the  buff  to  defy  the  world,  but  it  hurt  him  none  the  less. 
He  loved  his  aunt  in  spite  of  her  foibles,  and  knew  that 
she  worshiped  him.  She  would  no  more  execute  her 
threat  than  destroy  herself;  but  the  fact  that  she  could 
make  it  showed  how  widespread  were  the  snares  into 
which  he  might  fall.  If  she  lost  faith,  who  would  believe 
in  him  ? 

No  wonder  he  felt  confused,  depressed,  humiliated, 
weak !  Every  bright  prospect  had  in  an  instant  become 
dark.  He  did  not  once  think  of  yielding,  but  said  to  him 
self  that  he  must  think  it  out — think  k  out  alone.  Yet  he 
hardly  gave  the  matter  a  conscious  thought  in  the  days 
that  followed.  From  sunrise  to  sunset,  all  day  long,  he 
tramped  up  and  down  the  sparkling  river,  wading  the  shal 
lows,  whipping  the  pools,  talking  with  the  barefooted  lad 


254  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

who  caught  his  bait  and  carried  his  captures,  laughing  at 
his  own  mishaps,  exulting  in  his  successes,  breathing  the 
fresh  air,  lounging  in  the  sunshine,  feeling  all  the  time 
that  God  was  near  and  the  world  afar  off. 

True,  he  saw  strange  sights.  The  shining  ripples  of  his 
lost  Jove's  hair  would  float  down  the  dashing  stream,  get 
tangled  with  his  line,  make  his  eyes  unsteady,  and  almost 
paralyze  his  hand  when  he  felt  the  swift  strike  of  the  fish 
and  saw  the  surprised  and  angry  victim  leap  into  the  air, 
shaking  his  head  savagely,  while  the  sparkling  drops  fell 
off  his  shining  sides  as  he  dropped  again  into  the  laughing 
stream,  and  shot  back  and  forth  across  the  swift  current, 
seeking  by  every  possible  device  of  finny  cunning  to  re 
lease  himself  from  the  fatal  snare.  Sometimes  he  saw 
her  image  reflected  in  the  placid  pool  where  he  dropped 
his  fly;  and  when  he  threw  himself  down  among  the  fra 
grant  autumn  leaves  to  rest,  his  dreaming  eyes  were  sure 
to  see  her  drifting  hopelessly  away  into  the  infinite  depths 
of  the  blue  autumn  sky.  Love  will  play  such  freaks  even 
yet  with  men  who  are  silly  enough  to  believe  that  love  is 
not  incompatible  with  civilization.  When  he  hunted  out  a 
quiet  nook  among  the  granite  rocks  in  which  to  eat  his 
plain  but  abundant  mid-day  meal,  it  is  true  his  cares  came 
trooping  over  the  gray  hillsides,  perched  in  the  painted 
foliage  about  him,  and  began  to  babble  in  the  little  rill  at 
his  side.  But  they  fled  away  when  he  had  finished  his 
repast  and  stood  up  and  laughed  at  their  dolorous  insist 
ency,  shouted  until  the  hills  echoed,  sang  until  the  birds 
and  squirrels  wondered,  or  seized  his  rod  and  began  again 
the  patient,  absorbed  quest  of  his  prey  which  characterizes 
the  true  sportsman. 

It  mattered  little  whether  his  luck  were  good  or  bad, 
his  captures  many  or  few— when  the  night  came  and  he 


V 

DA  WAT  IN    THE   DESERT.  255 

had  eaten  a  hearty  supper,  chatted  a  while  with  the  farmer 
folks,  listened  to  the  owls  on  the  hillside,  watched  the 
weird  moonlight  as  it  cast  fantastic  shadows  over  hill  and 
dale,  and  caught  the  music  of  the  rippling  stream  which 
danced  and  sang  under  its  curtain  of  white  mist,  though 
he  saw  his  cares  mustering  to  assail  his  pillow,  he  fell 
asleep  before  they  could  touch  his  eyelids.  He  had  hardly 
time  to  pray  for  guidance,  but  the  All-Father  knew  that 
every  moment  a  brave  soul  was  struggling  for  victory  over 
itself.  So  the  night  breeze  and  silence  brought  healing. 

Every  morning  he  said  to  himself  that  he  would  think 
the  matter  out  that  day;  but  each  succeeding  night  he 
slept  without  having  stated  premise  or  conclusion.  Never 
theless,  when  Friday  morning  came  the  load  had  lifted. 
Nature's  song  of  praise  found  an  echo  in  his  heart  as  soon 
as  he  saw  the  sunshine  kissing  the  frosted  leaves.  All 
clay  long  he  sang  amid  his  sport  as  if  trouble  had  always 
been  a  stranger  to  his  heart,  songs  of  thankfulness  and 
exultation,  sometimes  under  his  breath,  when  the  line 
hissed  hot  through  the  boiling  eddies,  and  anon  in  sonor 
ous  tones  that  echoed  from  the  hillsides  while  he  rested 
after  the  struggle.  The  uncouth  lad  who  shared  his  sport 
wondered  at  his  glee,  but  caught  the  sunshine  from  his 
face,  and  when,  tired  but  cheery,  they  dragged  home  at 
night,  thought  he  had  never  known  so  happy  a  day  or 
seen  so  admirable  a  man.  It  is  curious  how  little  it  needs 
to  form  an  ideal  and  fix  the  aspiration  of  a  young  life. 

When  he  reached  the  farm-house  that  night,  Eastman 
found  a  telegram  awaiting  him : 

"  Come  by  first  train  to-morrow  without  fail. 

"  METZIGER." 

It  did  not  give  him  any  anxiety.     He  did  not  try  to  pic- 


256  MURVZLE  EASTMAN'. 

ture  what  reception  he  would  meet.  He  was  ready.  He 
had  thought  it  out.  When?  He  did  not  know.  What 
had  he  concluded?  To  do  whatever  he  might  for  man's 
betterment  that  God  might  open  the  way  for  him  to  do. 
With  what  instruments?  Such  as  God  might  place  in  his 
hands — provide  for  his  use.  And  his  love — Lilian  Kishu? 
He  had  given  her  up.  He  believed  that  her  happiness 
demanded  it,  and  his  love  was  too  loyal  to  repine  at  what 
ever  might  increase  her  joy.  He  had  thought  he  loved 
when  he  only  desired  her  love  himself.  Now  he  felt  that 
he  loved  much  better  when  he  had  yielded  up  that  desire. 
He  did  not  know  when  the  conquest  had  been  made/  He 
had  not  argued  with  himself,  nor  undergone  the  mythical 
agonies  of  self-dissection  which  the  rage  for  morbid  anat 
omy  makes  the  chief  ingredient  of  to-day's  fiction ;  but, 
like  a  healthy-minded  man  as  he  was>he  had  been  true  to 
his  love  and  true  to  himself,  and  put  it  out  of  his  life  be 
cause  she  wished  to  be  free.  He  felt  that  he  could  meet 
her  now  without  a  tremor.  It  even  shocked  him  a  little 
to  find  that  he  was  beginning  to  feel  that  she  was  not  al 
together  wrong,  that  she  could  never  have  been  quite 
happy  in  a  life-companionship  with  him.  He  was  sorry ;  it 
was  his  misfortune ;  but  he  was  glad  she  had  found  it  out 
in  time.  As  for  himself,  he  felt  that  the  path  of  duty  was 
plain.  He  would  do — whatever  opportunity  offered.  He 
did  not  doubt  but  he  would  do  some  good,  and  he  did  not 
think  that  the  face  of  man  would  ever  terrify  him  again. 

In  that  very  moment  he  began  the  task,  thus  self-im 
posed,  and  talked  long  and  earnestly  that  night  with  the 
parents  about  the  future  of  their  son,  the  boy  who  had 
shared  his  week's  sport  and  who  had  fallen  asleep  in 
weariness  with  his  head  upon  the  knee  of  his  new  friend. 
How  light  his  he-art  was  when  he  sought  his  bed  under 


THE   GA  TE   OF  PALMS.  257 

the  rafters  of  the  crumbling  homestead  that  night,  and 
sank  to  sleep  with  the  moonbeams  and  the  music  of  the 
murmuring  river  stealing  in  at  the  open  window!  How 
simple  and  how  sweet — yet  how  sure  are  Nature's  medi 
caments  to  the  worn  soul! 


CHAPTER    XXII. 

THE    GATE    OF   PALMS. 

IF  the  young  pastor  had  spent  the  night  in  the  most 
approved  paroxysms  of  self-conscious  imagining,  he  would 
never  have  pictured  anything  like  the  greeting  that  awaited 
him  as  the  train  glided  into  the  station,  and,  with  his  rod 
in  hand  and  creel  upon  his  hip,  he  started  along  the  plat 
form.  Metziger  and  Dr.  Farewell;  the  sister  of  the  dead 
Merton  arm-in-arm  with  his  widow ;  the  genial  president  of 
the  Belt  and  Cross-Cut  and  the  surly  director ;  a  delega 
tion  of  the  drivers  and  the  wives  of  a  good  many  more ; 
a  great  crowd  o{  the  members  of  his  church  with  a  de 
vout  deacon,  at  their  head ;  many  of  his  brethren  in  the 
ministry;  prominent  citizens  from  all  churches  and  no 
churches  at  all — what  were  they  here  for?  What  did  it 
mean?  Hand-shakings,  congratulations,  cheers,  laughter, 
commendations,  smiles,  flowers,  tears!  What  could  it 
mean?  He  turned  from  one  to  another  in  amazement. 
His  evident  confusion  added  to  the  zest  of  their  greeting. 
All  saw  that  it  was  a  genuine  surprise,  and  there  is  noth 
ing  a  crowd  likes  so  well  as  the  unexpected. 

And  the  news  that  was  poured  into  his  ears  as  he  was 
passed  from  one  to  another,  from  hand  to  hand,  as  it  were, 
in  the  crowded  station !  Dr.  Farewell  gave  him  assurance 
17 


258  AfURVALE   EASTMAN. 

that  Jonas  Underwood  was  steadily  improving ;  Merton's 
sister  thanked  him  for  his  kindness;  the  drivers  cheered 
for  "Number  Forty-six;1'  their  wives  greeted  him  with 
blessings ;  Murchison  assured  him  that  the  Belt  and  Cross- 
Cut  would  stand  by  him  ;  Tabor,  that  "  there  couldn't  any 
body  jump  on  a  man  who  was  doing  a  decent  thing  in 
that  way  while  he  was  around!  "  And  when,  finally,  Met- 
ziger  had  steered  him  through  the  laughing,  tearful,  shout 
ing  crowd  to  a  carriage  which  was  in  waiting,  old  Deacon 
Goodyear,  the  saintliest  soul  that  ever  worshiped  at  the 
Golden  Lilies,  leaned  over  and  with  tears  in  his  eyes 
whispered  in  his  pastor's  ear: 

"  1^  do  believe  we're  going  to  have  an — an  awakening. 
Never  have  known  such  a  prayer-meeting  since  we've  been 
in  the  new  church  as  we  had  Thursday  night.  The  lec 
ture-room  was  full  and  all  seemed  to  have  you  in  their 
hearts.  You  ought  to  have  heard  the  prayers — seemed 
as  if  you  must  have  heard  them!  " 

Thursday  night!  He  knew  now,  whence  his  peace  had 
come — the  manna  that  had  fallen  on  his  soul  while  he 
slept ! 

The  carriage  drove  away  with  one  of  its  occupants 
stunned  and  speechless  with  surprise.  Metziger  was  hur 
riedly  explaining  what  had  happened;  how  the  reaction 
had  set  in  as  soon  as  the  truth  was  known;  that  Jonas 
Underwood  had  insisted  on  being  carried  into  the  prayer- 
meeting  and  having  a  paper,  written  at  his  dictation,  read 
to  those  assembled — the  effect  was  "  immense,"  Metziger 
said ;  that  the  Mertons  were  so  pleased  with  the  pastor's 
tact  in  saving  the  family  from  disgrace  that,  finding  their 
brother's  widow  a  really  accomplished  lady,  they  had  taken 
her  up,  their  mutual  interests  had  been  harmonized,  and 
what  seemed  destined  to  prove  a  scandal  to  the  church 


THE   GATF    OF  PALMS.  259 

was  likely  to  be  a  blessing ;  how  Searle  had  planned  the 
welcome,  and  given  notice  in  the  Breeze  that  "a  few 
friends1' would  meet  the  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  at 
the  station  on  his  return. 

"  We  made  sure  it  would  not  be  a  failure ;  but  it  was 
about  as  much  of  a  surprise-party  to  us  as  to  you.  We 
didn't  expect  such  an  ovation  as  that." 

"  I  don't  deserve  it,"  said  the  disconcerted  fisherman. 

"  Well,"  answered  the  other  dryly,  "  you'll  have  to  try 
and  put  up  with  it;  it's  your  own  fault;  you  shouldn't 
have  gone  about  doing  good  without  blowing  a  trumpet, 
if  you  didn't  want  people  to  act  silly  when  they  found  it 
out.  It  can't  be  helped  now." 

The  lawyer  hated  shams  and  would  not  doff  his  hat  to 
them.  People  called  him  a  cynic,  and  he  had  as  good 
reason  to  be  such  as  any  one,  since  he  saw  into  so  many 
rotten  hearts.  Yet  he  loved  a  man,  and  believed  in 
humanity. 

Murvale  Eastman  was  dumb  with  thankfulness,  yet 
there  was  one  drop  of  sorrow  in  his  brimming  cup  of  bliss. 

Wilton  Kishu  and  his  daughter  were  not  among  the 
crowd  who  came  to  welcome  him.  Of  course  it  was  not 
to  be  expected,  and  yet  it  gave  his  heart  a  wrench  that  he 
should  have  received  such  a  greeting  and  Lilian  not  have 
been  present  to  share  his  joy.  Mr.  Kishu,  too— could  the 
Golden  Lilies  rejoice  without  him?  At  length  Eastman 
mentioned  his  name.  Metziger  grew  grave  at  once. 

"  I  wouldn't  waste  a  thought  on  him,"  was  the  only 
comment. 

But  when  the  young  minister  fell  on  his  knees  in  the 
silence  of  his  own  room,  these  were  the  first  names  that 
passed  his  lips. 


260  MURVALE  EASTMAN". 


CHAPTER   XXIII. 

OUT    OF   THE    SMITTEN    ROCK. 

THE  pastor's  eyes  were  dewy  the  next  morning  when 
he  ro6e  before  such  an  audience  as  had  never  crowded 
the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  and  with  uplifted  hand 
gave  the  signal  for  the  invocation.  He  could  not  join  in 
the  words  of  praise  as  had  been  his  wont.  He  was  striv 
ing  to  master  his  emotion.  Every  seat  was  occupied  and 
all  the  aisles  were  filled  with  chairs.  Some  familiar  faces 
were  missing.  Mr.  Kishu,  one  of  the  deacons,  and  several 
of  the  leading  members  were  absent.  The  pastor's  heart 
ached,  for  he  counted  them  among  the  sheep  given  into 
his  care  by  the  Great  Shepherd,  and  he  feared  lest  any 
act  of  his  might  bring  peril  to  any  soul  or  enmity  to  any 
heart.  He  did  not  think  at  all  of  the  strife  he  knew  to 
be  impending.  He  had  put  that  into  other  hands;  but  he 
did  not  wish  needlessly  to  awaken  anger  or  distrust.  Lil 
ian  Kishu  was  the  only  member  of  the  family  in  her 
father's  pew.  Her  eyes  sought  Murvale  Eastman's  with 
wistful  inquiry.  He  thought  it  very  kind  of  her  to  come 
and  show  that  there  was  no  enmity  between  them  ;  and  he 
thanked  her  with  a  glance  for  her  thoughtful  friendliness. 
His  heart  was  very  tender  toward  her,  but  he  did  not  feel 
one  throb  of  love  or  hope;  and  did  not  once  think  of  re 
gret.  The  "woman  in  black"  sat  with  other  mourning 
women,  peaceful  and  resigned,  in  the  accustomed  pew  of 
the  Mertons.  Many  eyes  scanned  her  face,  and  there 


OUT  OF    THE    SMITTEN  ROCK.  261 

were  whispered  words  of  resentment  that  one  so  evidently 
pure  should  have  been  so  defamed. 

In  a  chair  at  the  right  of  the  pulpit  was  Jonas  Under 
wood;  his  wife,  placid  and  smiling,  sat  beside  him.  His 
physician  had  granted  him  leave  to  attend  the  service. 
If  his  improvement  continued  for  one  more  week,  he  was 
to  go  to  a  milder  clime,  for  Jonas  Underwood  had  be 
come  a  capitalist  since  the  last  Sabbath ;  the  long-deferred 
pension  had  been  granted.  Stirred  by  the  taunts  of  the 
press  which  had  taken  up  his  case,  the  bureau  having  in 
charge  the  distribution  of  the  nation's  bounty  had  de 
clared  itself  unable  to  resist  the  testimony  of  the  fragment 
of  lead  he  had  so  long  carried  in  his  vitals,  and  to  stop 
the  jeers  at  its  evident  injustice  had  hastily  granted  the 
pension  with  arrears.  This  haste  was  due  to  the  clamor 
ous  insistence  of  a  member  of  Congress  who  had  taken  a 
sense  of  the  situation.  Underwood  had  already  received 
the  certificate  and  executed  his  voucher  for  the  first  pay 
ment.  The  hope  of  seeing  his  wife  in  comfort  had  given 
him  new  life.  The  audience  gazed  at  him  with  unbounded 
curiosity ;  for,  the  day  before,  suit  had  been  begun  in  his 
name  against  the  city  to  recover  the  forfeited  bequests  of 
his  progenitor.  If  he  could  maintain  his  claim  of  descent 
from  old  Valentine  he  would  be  a  very  rich  man.  His 
health,  therefore,  was  a  matter  of  interest  to  very  many 
people. 

In  front  of  the  pulpit,  sitting  bolt  upright  in  a  chair  in 
the  middle  aisle,  was  Ebenezer  Townley,  gray-haired  and 
fair-faced,  with  that  sternness  of  outline  which  for  many 
generations -characterizes  the  Scotch-descended,  the  one 
rich  member  who  had  withdrawn  when  the  church  had 
left  its  old  down-town  home  in  order  to  meet  the  conven 
ience  of  the  wealthy  men  who  contributed  to  its  support. 


262  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

He  had  never  been  inside  the  Golden  Lilies  before,  and 
his  advent  created  a  sensation.  With  his  stiff,  bristling 
hair  standing  out  from  his  high  forehead,  he  faced  the 
pulpit,  turning  neither  to  the  right  nor  left,  and  apparently 
indifferent  to  the  curious  glances  cast  upon  him. 

But  the  most  striking  thing  in  the  congregation  was  the  \ 
number  of  new,  serious  faces,  faces  of  men  and  women 
who  did  not  represent  great  wealth  or  high  station,  earn 
est-minded  people  who  had  evidently  come  to  hear  the 
new  doctrines  the  preacher  was  expected  to  promulgate, 
or  to  testify  approval  of  the  course  he  had  pursued. 

Murvale  Eastman's  voice  trembled  as  he  folded  his 
hands  in  prayer,  trembled  with  gratitude  and  fear  that  he 
might  not  fitly  discharge  the  obligations  resting  upon  him. 

"  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,  and  so  fulfill  the  law 
of  Christ!  "  was  the  theme  on  which  he  spoke.  Strangely 
enough  he  had  little  to  say  about  sympathy  and  benevo 
lence,  and  less  still  about  the  duty  to  "  feed  the  hungry, 
clothe  the  naked,  and  succor  the  distressed."  The 
words  were  intended,  he  thought,  to  be  taken  in  a  literal 
rather  than  a  figurative  sense.  They  did  not  enjoin  so 
much  the  duty  of  pitying  one  who  was  sinking  under  bur 
dens  too  great  for  his  strength,  or  giving  him  alms  and 
food  after  he  had  broken  down,  as  that  of  lending  him  aid, 
strength,  support,  in  order  that  he  might  not  succumb. 
The  great  duty  the  command  was  designed  to  inculcate 
was  that  the  strong  should  share  with  the  faltering  their 
surplus  of  strength  and  wealth  and  so  prevent  collapse, 
demoralization,  hopelessness,  despair,  crime.  The  pri 
mary  reference  in  the  Epistle  was  to  spiritual  b\irdens ;  but 
the  whole  argument  was  in  favor  of  "  the  law  of  Christ '' 
—mutual  love  and  helpfulness — rather  than  the  cere 
monial  law  of  rites  and  forms. 


OUT  OF    THE    SMITTEN  ROCK.  263 

The  common  duty  of-man,  he  declared,  was  to  help  his 
fellow ;  and  the  measure  of  help  he  was  called  upon  to 
give  was  the  surplus  of  his  strength,  knowledge,  and  wealth 
— what  he  could  spare  without  detriment  to  his  own 
health,  comfort,  growth,  and  the  duty  he  owed  his  own 
family  and  dependents.  To  refuse  it  was  to  disobey  the 
divine  injunction.  This  was  the  personal,  the  individual 
side  of  this  behest;  the  responsibility  thrown  upon  every 
believer  as  to  his  own  individual  action.  The  text  meant 
not  merely  to  enjoin  moral  aid  in  bearing  burdens,  but, 
primarily  and  equally,  material,  physical  support  of  over 
weighted  energy. 

But  there  was  another  side  of  this  divine  behest.  The 
language  was  taken  from  a  pastoral  letter,  addressed  by 
the  Apostle  Paul  to  the  Church,  as  an  organized  force  in 
society.  It  laid  upon  the  Church,  as  a  primal  duty,  the 
obligation  of  PREVENTING  its  own  weak  ones  from  falling, 
not  into  sin  merely,  but  into  feebleness,  want,  and  despair 
as  well.  A  man  broken  in  mind,  body,  and  estate  was 
worth  little  to  God  or  man  as  a  force  in  the  world's  life,  in 
comparison  with  the  same  man,  strong,  comfortable,  undis 
turbed  by  the  fear  of  want  or  the  despair  of  vice.  The 
one  had  strength  to  give  to  his  fellows  above  his  own  need. 
The  other  was  a  drag  upon  the  spiritual  vitality  as  well  as 
the  material  stores  of  others.  Worse  than  that,  he  was  a 
threat  against  the  peace  of  the  future.  The  souls  spring 
ing  from  such  lives  are  like  one  born  with  the  white  tetter 
of  leprosy,  a  peril  to  all  who  come  in  contact  with  them, 
whether  with  kind  or  malevolent  purpose.  The  church 
which  allowed  one  of  its  members  to  fall  into  want,  or 
wither  beneath  the  brand  of  dependency,  committed  a 
terrible  sin.  The  purpose  of  the  Church  as  a  religious 
cult  was  not  merely,  nor  even  primarily,  to  induce  men 


264  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

and  women  to  believe  certain  specific  propositions,  but  to 
make  it  easy  for  them  to  live  according  to  the  behests,  to 
practice  the  teachings  and  emulate  the  example,  of  our 
Lord.  '  Belief  should  come  naturally,  healthfully,  cheer- 
:  fully,  according  to  each  one's  character  and  individuality. 
Righteous  living  is  not  only  possible  to  all,  but  is  the  duty 
of  all — believers  and  unbelievers  alike.  There  are  thou 
sands  who  are  doers  merely,  neither  teachers  nor  ex 
pounders,  nor  conscious  believers,  but  men  who  love  the 
Saviour  of  the  World  with  an  undying  ardor,  because  he 
first  loved  man  and  taught  the  lesson  of  divine  lave  and 
truth. 

The  duty  of  the  Church  is  to  incline  men  to  "  do  the 
will  of  the  Father,"  naturally,  easily,  unconsciously  even, 
not  only  because  it  is  his  will,  but  because  it  is  sweet  and 
pleasant  to  do  so.  Her  duty  is  not  only  to  show  sin  and 
wrong  to  be  perilous  to  the  soul,  but  to  make  evil  unpopu 
lar,  unpleasant,  loathsome.  We  have  too  long  taught  that 
sin  and  pleasure  are  synonymous.  It  is  not  true ;  or,  if  it 
be,  it  is  the  fault  of  the  Church.  God  meant  the  Church 
to  make  the  path  of  duty  pleasant,  not  by  mere  decoration, 
but  by  general  environment  and  universal  inheritance. 
Children  should  be  "  born  into  the  kingdom  of  God  "  in  lit 
eral  fact,  born  with  such  inherited  impulses  that  the  path 
of  duty  would  be  as  natural  to  their  feet  as  the  brute's  in 
stinct  to  him. 

We  have. been  Christians,  he  said,  for  nineteen  hundred 
years,  almost,  and  the  Christ -spirit  should  begin  to  be  in 
stinctive.  Each  Christian  parent's  child  should  be  a 
Samuel,  answering  with  glad  impulse,  "  Here  am  I,"  to 
every  call  of  duty,  because  it  deems  truth  and  duty  pleas 
ant  and  sweet. 

It  is  insti.nctive;  he  declared,  and  most  of  the  children 


OUT  OF   THE    SMITTEN  ROCK.  265 

of  Christian  homes  would  become  soldiers  in  God's  army 
without  conscious  enlistment,  if  we  would  permit  them  to 
do  so.  But  we  teach  them  self-distrust.  We  teach  them 
that  they  cannot  be  good  unless  they  first  believe  them 
selves  vile ;  that  they  must  sin  before  they  can  be  saved ; 
that  they  must  be  black  before  they  can  be  white.  In 
our  very  love  for  the  young  soul,  we  make  haste  to  stain  its 
purity.  We  demand  humiliation,  deceit,  the  sense  of  tor 
ture  and  sacrifice,  instead  of  encouraging  the  young  life 
to  see  beauty  in  truth  and  find  pleasure  in  duty. 

The  greatest  part  of  every  life  is  inherited  impulse  and 
general  environment.  With  centuries  of  Christian  parent 
age,  the  impulse  to  "  do  unto  others  as  you  would  that 
they  should  do  to  you,11  should  be  as  easily  traceable  in 
every  Christian  child  as  the  marks  of  the  thoroughbred  in 
a  race-horse.  Christianity  did  not  supersede  nature,  only  ^ 
sanctified  its  laws,  and  ex  ected  the  Church  to  observe 
the  ordinances  of  God,  written  in  heart  and  soul,  in  brain 
and  fiber,  as  well  as  those  engrossed  on  tables  of  stone. 

"  Ingersoll,"  said  the  young  pastor,  "  has  mockingly  de 
clared  that  if  he  had  made  the  world  he  '  would  have  made 
health  catching,  instead  of  disease! ' 

"  This  is  just  what  God  has  done.  Health  is  the  normal 
condition.  The  air  is  pure;  the  water  clean.  Mental, 
moral,  and  physical  health  are  inheritable,  even  more  cer-  j/ 
tainly  than  disease.  Health  strives  with  evil ;  nature  fights 
against  foulness.  God  has  put  this  weapon  in  the  hands 
of  his  children  to  be  used.  The  impulse  of  uncounted 
generations  of  believers  is  behind  every  Christian  child. 
Does  it  mean  nothing? 

"  Then,  also,  we  have  the  general  environment,  public 
sentiment,  the  popular  ideal;  what  is  it?  It  should  be 
pure  and  sareet.  The  child  should  not  only  be  inclined 


266  .  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 

to  be  truthful,  honest,  self-sacrificing,  brave,  helpful,  from 
the  first ;  but  should  fear  to  be  otherwise  lest  it  might  earn 
the  scorn  and  contempt  or,  still  worse,  the  pity  of  others. 
It  is  the  Church's  duty  to  its  members  to  make  the  en 
vironment  year  by  year  better  and  sweeter,  so  that  the 
inherited  tendency  to  good  may  become  stronger  wi'h 
each  succeeding  generation.  Evolution  is  the  law  of  at 
tribute,  whether  it  is  of  species  or  not.  We  are  what  we 
are  to-dav,  because  our  fathers  were  what  they  were,  in 
the  innumerable  yesterdays.  The  dead  hand  of  an  an 
cestor  reaches  often  across  even  a  century  and  grips  us 
by  the  heartstrings.  God  has  consecrated  this  law  to  hu 
man  progress.  He  expects  us  to  make  that  dead  hand  a 
Christian  force,  and  commands  us  to  spread  about  the 
young  life  an  environment — to  bless  it  with  surroundings, 
conditions,  influences — that  will  incline  it  naturally  and 
easily  to  speak  truly,  act  justly,  and  be  ready,  willing,  and 
anxious  to  '  bear  one  another's  burdens.' 

"But  grace!  temptation!  sin!  what  of  these?  Never 
fear;  there  will  be  room  enough  for  grace!  Do  not  be 
afraid  your  children  will  not  be  tempted!  You  need  not 
begin  to  tremble  lest  sin  should  disappear.  Only  make 
the  work  of  grace  easy;  the  task  of  the  tempter  difficult; 
the  way  of  sin  loathsome!  This  is  the  duty  of  the  Church 
to  those  within  its  fold,  and  to  all  who  may  be  born  to 
those  who  have  felt  the  water  of  baptism.  A  Christian 
driven  to  despair  by  the  woes  of  life  is  a  testimony  against 
the  churches — the  Christianity,  the  sincerity  of  all  who 
profess  His  word  in  any  city  and  in  any  land. 

"  But  there  is  another  duty,"  added  the  speaker,  wip 
ing  away  the  sweat-drops  which  intense  feeling  had 
brought  to  his  brow,  "there  is  another  duty,  which  the 
Church  as  an  organic  force  owes  to  God  and  man,  beside 


OUT  OF    THE    SMITTEN  ROCK.  267 

which  that  we  have  been  considering,  grand  as  it  seems, 
pales  into  insignificance — or,  to  speak  more  properly,  of 
which  it  is  but  a  trivial  part.  While  the  Church's  duty,  like 
a  parent's,  is  first  always  to  its  own,  it  is  not  bounded  by 
faith  or  creed ;  it  is  to  the  whole  world,  to  every  soul  that 
is,  and  to  every  one  that  is  to  be. 

"  In  this  work,  however,  the  Church  is  only  a  contribu 
tory  force,  a  co-ordinate  agency.  In  it  every  man  who 
respects  himself  or  loves  another  is  an  ally.  Every  pa 
triot  who  loves  his  country;  every  philanthropist  who 
wishes  well  to  his  fellow ;  every  soldier  who  fights  for  the 
right ;  every  hero  who  consecrates  his  life  to  liberty ;  every 
statesman  who  labors  to  promote  justice;  every  scientist 
who  studies  the  laws  of  health  or  the  nature  of  disease ; 
every  lover  who  counts  himself  worthy  to  kiss  a  pure 
woman's  lips ;  every  father  who  hopes  for  the  welfare  of 
his  offspring ;'  every  man  who  exults  in  his  manhood,  and 
every  woman  worthy  the  crown  of  womanhood — all  these 
are  conscious  or  unconscious  co-laborers  with  the  Church 
in  the  noblest  work  committed  to  the  hand  of  Man  by  the 
Divine. 

"The  function  of  civilization,  which  is  the  sum  of  all 
the  forces  making  for  human  welfare — the  resultant  of  an 
infinite  system  of  collaborative  energy  and  beneficence — • 
the  ultimate  purpose  of  this  marvelous  array  of  forces 
which  the  Divine  has  directed  against  the  ills  of  humanity, 
is  to  compass,  as  nearly  as  may  be,  the  perfect  spiritual, 
mental,  moral,  and  physical  health  of  every  individual,  to 
equalize  opportunity  and  privilege,  and  offer  a  healthful 
environment  and  chance  of  wholesome  growth  to  every 
human  being. 

" '  Ah,'  but  you  say  gaspingly,  as  your  mind  grasps  the 
immensity  of  this  work  and  the  grandeur  of  the  result, 
'  that  can  never  be ! ' 


268  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

"O  fool,  and  faint  heart!  What  is  impossible  with 
God,  and  who  shall  set  limits  to  his  power?  Does  he  not 
work  by  law  a  million  times  where  once  by  miracle?  Has 
he  not  made  man  the  instrument  of  his  beneficence  to 
man?  Was  not  the  Holiest  required  to  take  upon  himself 
the  form  of  man?  If  God's  glory  was  subserved  by  provid 
ing  for  the  spiritual  redemption,  shall  it  not  also  be  sub 
served  by  promoting  the  entire  betterment  of  the  human 
race?  Is  God's  power  exhausted  by  the  'plan  of  salva 
tion?'  Is  'regeneration'  the  only  means  by  which  he 
may  touch  and  uplift  humanity?  Is  the  life  beyond  the 
grave  the  only  life  loved  by  the  One  who  put  man  to  live 
on  earth?  Shall  he  not  use  his  own  laws  to  make  salva 
tion  surer?  Must  the  devil  have  his  will  of  every  human 
soul  before  God  will  allow  it  to  taste  his  grace?  I  speak 
not  now  of  salvation,  but' of  earth,  and  man,  and  God, — • 
of  the  succor  and  beneficence  God  brings  to  man  on 
earth,  of  what  he  wills  the  human  life  to  be  with  respect 
to  other  human  lives,  and  of  the  powers  and  forces  by 
which  he  expects  us  to  carry  out  his  will.  God's  laws, 
written  in  nature  and  stamped  on  the  human  soul,  are  not 
less  sacred  than  his  revealed  word — which,  indeed,  itself 
came  through  human  hearts  as  moved  by  the  Divine 
Spirit. 

"  And  why  should  it  be  thought  impossible  that  God 
through  human  means  should  work  out  human  betterment? 
Shall  not  the  Divine  select  his  own  instruments?  Is  he 
meaner  than  the  tinker  who  patches  your  broken  wares? 
Shall  he  not  shape  and  sharpen  at  will  the  tools  he  uses? 
Has  he  not  done  so?  Is  not  man  better  and  stronger  to 
day  than  ever  before?  Does  not  every  fact  of  human 
history  show  that  God  designs  him  to  be  better  still? 
O  fool,  to  limit  and  blaspheme  the  mercy  to  which  you 


OUT   OF    T11K    SM1TTEX  ROCK.  269 

appeal!  If  God  loveth  the  human  soul  enough  to  pro 
vide  for  its  eternal  salvation,  why  should  he  not  love  it 
enough  to  provide  for  its  elevation,  health,  and  strengthen 
ing  upon  earth?  Does  God  love  human  degradation? 
Must  the  human  soul  wallow  in  the  mire  of  vice  before  he 
can  love  or  pity  it?  If  he  loves  even  that  which  is  foulest, 
shall  he  not  love  that  which  is  less  embruted  even  better? 
Such  fancies  are  vain !  Because  God  does  mean  the  ele 
vation  of  man  on  earth  as  well  as  his  ultimate  salvation, 
he  has  ordained  that  magnificent  array  of  mutable  forces 
which  we  call  civilization,  which  he  has  put  into  our  hands 
with  which  to  work  out  better  conditions.  Science,  gov 
ernment,  law,  literature,  art :  all  these  are  forces  by  which 
he  seeks  to  lift  us  up,  if  we  will  but  use  them  aright. 

"  Learn  to  see  his  plan  of  growth,,  as  well  as  his  plan  of 
salvation.  The  Master  typified  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven 
by  the  seed  which  grows  from  nothingness  in  the  mire  to 
beauty  and  strength  and  usefulness  in  the  upper  sunshine. 

"  But  the  best,  you  say,  is  unattainable.  Perfection 
does  not,  indeed,  attach  to  the  finite ;  but  a  limitless  realm 
of  improvement  lies  before  us.  From  the  age  of  stone 
and  bronze,  from  universal  ignorance  and  weakness  and 
degradation,  God  has  pushed  man  on  and  upward.  Shall 
we  deny  his  power  and  purpose  to  do  other  and  greater 
things  in  the  same  direction,  and  by  the  same  forces? 
He  has  made  human  betterment  depend  always  on  human 
purpose  and  human  knowledge.  He  has  acted  on  human 
conditions  by  human  forces.  The  best  is  indeed  unat 
tainable,  because  human  knowledge  is  incomplete ;  but  a 
better  is  always  attainable.  That  the  earth  is  not  as  pure 
and  sweet  as  the  human  mind  can  conceive  that  it  might 
be,  is  only  because  each  one  is  not  willing  to  do  the  duty 
he  knows  to  rest  upon  him.  This  does  not  excuse  effort, 


270  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

but  makes  it  all  the  more  incumbent  on  him  that  be 
lieves. 

"Collective  obligations  are  the  greatest  of  human 
duties,  because  they  touch  the  welfare,  not  of  one  alone, 
but  of  millions  of  human  souls.  The  Christian  who 
claims  to  do  his  duty  to  God  and  shirks  his  duty  to  man 
is  a  sad  failure.  The  soul  that  does  not  love  mankind 
cannot  love  God,  who  '  so  loved  the  world  that  he  gave 
his  only  begotten  Son  to  die  for  it.'  Whatever  the  mystery 
of  man's  eternal  salvation  may  be,  it  is  not  left  to  us  to 
unfold.  But  human  betterment,  progress,  growth,  the 
development  of  ameliorating  conditions  here  on  earth: 
these  things  God  has  made  dependent  entirely  on  man's 
willingness  to  do  good  to  man.  All  that  He  does  is  to 
coax  and  scourge  man  to  willingness  and  activity.  And 
this  willingness  he  has  made  the  touchstone  whereby 
alone  the  work  of  his  Spirit  in  each  heart  may  be  surely 
tested. 

"  Poverty  and  wealth  are  the  chief  sources  of  vice. 
The  man  who  has  not  enough  is  ever  under  the  glare  of 
temptation.  And  a  full  stomach  is  not  always  enough ; 
very  rarely,  indeed :  there  is  a  hunger  of  heart  and  brain 
and  soul  that  is  even  more  deadly  and  dangerous.  The 
man  who  is  shut  out  from  knowledge ;  to  whom  domestic 
comfort  is  an  unattainable  luxury;  he  who  is  denied 
equality  of  right  and  parity  of  opportunity,  whose  utmost 
effort  only  saves  his  loved  ones  from  shame  and  starva 
tion,  that  man  is  ready  to  hate,  and  only  the  mighty  power 
of  inherited  Christian  impulse  saves  him  from  being  will 
ing  to  harm  those  whose  superabundance  represents 
healthful  sufficiency  for  thousands.  The  woman  who  feels 
herself  and  her  children  ignored,  contemned  and  avoided 
because  the  tide  of  prosperity  has  not  flowed  past  her 


OUT   OF   THE   SMITTEN  A* OCA'.  271 

door,  may  save  her  virtue,  may  patiently  submit,  may  rear 
her  children  to  noble  lives,  but  if  she  does,  it  is  not  be 
cause  her  more  fortunate  sisters  have  not  done  all  in  their 
power  to  drive  her  to  despair. 

"  So,  too,  he  that  has  gathered  with  unfaltering  greed 
until  he  holds  the  destiny  of  thousands  in  his  hands  may 
be  fair  in  profession,  honest  in  dealing  as  the  law  defines 
honesty;  but  he  has  hardened  his  heart,  shut  his  eyes  to 
his  fellow's  welfare,  and  gone  back  to  Cain's  silly  plea, 
'  Am  I  my  brother's  keeper?  '  He  is  his  brother's  keeper. 
Every  soul  is  responsible  for  the  good  it  might  have  done ; 
for  the  sin  resulting  from  temptation  it  might  have  re 
moved;  for  the  justice  it  might  have  granted  or  secured, 
and  did  not !  The  public,  political,  and  social  duties  of 
every  man  are  of  infinitely  greater  moment  to  man,  and  in 
finitely  more  important  in  the  eyes  of  God,  than  his  personal 
relations  or  individual  convictions  or  religions  experiences. 
We  have  the  word  of  Christ  and  his  Apostles  for  that. 

"  And  what  is  the  relation  of  the  Church  to  these  great 
forces  which  shape  the  environment  of  every  life,  and 
must  color  the  background  of  every  soul  that  shall  stand 
betwixt  us  and  the  hither  shore  of  eternity?  The  Duty  of 
Love  is  the  key-note  of  Christianity.  To  do  good  to  all 
men,  to  promote  the  highest  welfare  of  all  men,  is  its 
distinctive  quality  as  a  religious  cult.  Prayer  and  praise 
and  creed  are  all  subordinate,  are  only  helps  to  this  great 
end.  To  do  is  the  active  principle  of  the  Christ-message, 
the  Christ-thought ;  to  do  good  to  man,  the  fulfillment  of 
God's  purpose,  the  ultimate  aim  of  his  law  and  his  behest 
so  far  as  man's  conduct  is  concerned! 

"  The  function  of  the  Church  as  a  human  institution,  its 
highest  duty,  is  therefore  to  stimulate  men  to  do  God's 
will;  to  imitate  God's  justice;  to  illustrate  God's  mercy; 


272  MUKl'AI.r:    KASTMAN. 

to  fulfill  God's  purpose  and  screen  God's  children  from 
temptation  and  despair!  Its  function  is  to  be,  not  the 
controller,  but  the  mainspring  of  civilization ;  to  see  to  it 
that  in  government,  in  business,  in  society,  the  underlying 
impulse  is  that  which  is  enjoined  for  the  regulation  of  hu 
man  life,  '  Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens.' 

"Does  our  present  civilization  need  this  force?  Are 
the  economic  and  social  conditions  of  to-day  conducive 
to  the  moral,  intellectual,  and  physical  well-being  of  our 
fellows?  Look  not  merely  at  the  tale  of  crime  and  the 
record  of  poverty,  but  go  beneath  them  to  the  provoking 
causes,  the  temptations,  the  injustice,  the  despair.  Let 
us  not  shirk  the  mighty  problem.  The  more  difficult  it 
is,  the  grander  is  the  duty  it  enjoins  and  the  more  glori 
ous  will  be  its  solution.  In  our  land  to-day  there  are 
thirteen  millions  of  families.  Of  these  one-quarter  of  a 
million  possess  an  average  of  six  hundred  thousand  dol 
lars  each;  eleven  million  families  average  less  than  one 
thousand  dollars  each.  Of  these  latter,  how  many  have 
only  five  hundred  dollars,  only  two  hundred,  only  one  hun 
dred,  nothing  beyond  to-day's  bread  and  to-morrow's  ex 
pectation?  God  only  knows!  No  statesman  dare  inquire! 
No  Christian  dare  guess! 

"  Let  us  admit  that  these  vast  accumulations  represent 
no  personal  wrong,  no  individual  infraction  of  legal  right 
on  the  part  of  the  possessor.  It  is  not  our  duty  to  assail 
the  rich  or  excuse  the  poor.  The  only  inquiry  we  have 
to  propound,  the  question  every  Christian  soul  in  the 
Republic  must  help  to  answer,  is  this :  '  Is  a  civilization 
which  yields  these  results  a  safe  one?  Is  it  a  civilization 
pleasing  to  God  and  promotive  of  his  will  to  man?  Is  it 
inspired  by  the  Christ-spirit,  '  Bear  ye  one  another's  bur 
dens '?  If  not,  it  is  our  duty  to  make  it  so. 


OUT  OF    THE    SMITTEN  ROCK.  273 

"  How  shall  this  be  done? 

"  Here  is  the  problem  God  has  put  before  us  for  solu 
tion.  He  has  given  us  his  Word,  his  Spirit,  the  example 
of  his  anointed  Christ,  the  knowledge  the  ages  have  stored 
up  for  us,  and  the  experience  of  all  hearts  that  have  bled 
under  the  infinite  woe  of  unfair  conditions,  to  aid  us. 
The  function  of  the  Church  as  an  element  of  dvilizat'on, 
is  not  to  prescribe  methods,  not  to  devise  remedies;  that  is  ^ 
the  function  of  government,  the  duty  of  society.  (The  function 
of  the  Church  is  only  to  inspire  action,  to  provide  impulse,  to 
exalt  and  purify  motive^  to  incline  man  to  apply  the  Christ- 
spirit  to  collective  human  relations.  How  existing  social 
or  political  evils  may  be  remedied  is  a  question  which  we 
must  answer  as  so  many  questions  touch  in  human  devel 
opment  have  already  been  answered.  We  have  learned  in 
a  single  life-time  how  the  lightning  may  be  tamed,  how  the 
tempest  may  be  defied,  how  the  vapor  may  be  harnessed, 
and  have  solved  a  thousand  other  problems  which  God 
has  enabled  man  to  work  out  for  the  well-being  of  hu 
manity.  Shall  we  not  also  solve  this?  If  the  Church  but 
proclaims  it  to  be  God's  will  that  it  should  be  done,  earn 
est  souls  will  soon  find  a  way. 

"  Let  us  pray  that  we  may  learn." 


There  was  something  vaguely  startling  in  the  position 
of  the  young  divine,  which  was  all  the  more  striking  from 
the  fact  that  he  did  not  obtrude  himself  nor  propose  any 
nostrum  for  the  cure  of  social  or  economic  evil.  He 
merely  asserted  that  civilization,  as  well  as  Christianity, 
was  of  God,  and  that  the  Church  as  an  institution,  and 
the  Christian  as  an  individual,  have  each  a  specific  func 
tion  to  perform  in  relation  to  civilization  which  was  equally 
divine,  and  very  probably  auxiliary  to  the  duty  of  promot- 
18 


274  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

ing  the  spread  of  knowledge  of  a  saving  faith.  The  the 
ological  expert  would  have  found  little  that  was  new  in 
Murvale  Eastman's  words,  except  the  correlation  of  these 
forces  and  the  sturdy  insistence  that  both  were  equally  di 
vine,  the  one  enjoined  by  the  revealed  Word,  and  the 
other  by  divinely  ordered  causes  and  consequences.  Sci 
ence  has  taught  even  the  most  incredulous  of  saints,  with 
in  the  life-time  of  many  now  living,  to  admit  what  was 
before  esteemed  blasphemous,  not  merely  as  a  fact,  but 
as  a  beautiful  and  harmonious  revelation;  so  that  we 
read  to-day  the  record  of  God's  work  in  veritable  tables 
of  stones  which  his  hand  has  traced  and  his  wisdom  pre 
served  for  our  instruction  and  delight.  We  have  learned 
to  come  reverently  into  the  temple  of  Nature,  realizing 
that  the  ground  whereon  we  stand  is  holy,  and  that  every 
bush  is  aflame  with  his  presence  and  power.  But  we  have 
only  just  begun  to  comprehend  that,  as  he  has  made  na 
ture  an  eternal  testimony  of  his  wisdom,  so  too  he  has  made 
man  a  constant  witness  of  his  purpose;  that  if  the  rocks 
abound  with  evidence  of  his  infinite  power,  so  human  his 
tory  is  eloquent  of  his  beneficence.  We  have  come  to 
admit  the  testimony  of  Nature  as  to  his  omnipotence ;  we 
are  only  beginning  to  admit  the  testimony  of  man  as  to 
his  omniscient  justice  and  mercy. 

But  the  congregation  of  the  Golden  Lilies  were  des 
tined  to  witness  on  that  eventful  Sabbath  events  so  sur 
prising  that  the  sermon  would  almost  have  been  forgotten 
by  them,  but  for  certain  notable  results  that  flowed  from  it. 


FRESH  BLOOD.  275 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

FRESH    BLOOD. 

OF  the  surprises  which  the  congregation  of  the  Golden 
Lilies  were  to  experience  that  day,  the  first  was  that  which 
followed  the  singing  of  a  hymn  after  the  sermon,  when  the 
pastor  approached  the  desk  holding  several  papers  in  his 
hand.  A  hush  came  over  the  audience,  many  of  whom 
very  naturally  supposed  that  this  was  the  prelude  of  divis 
ion  and  .disaster.  Such,  indeed,  was  the  apparent  purport 
of  the  pastor's  first  remark.  He  stated  that  letters  of  dis 
missal  had  been  applied  for  and  granted  to  several  mem 
bers  of  the  church,  whom  he  named.  There  were  not 
many,  though  most  of  them  were  men  of  standing  and  in 
fluence.  The  pastor  stated  frankly  that  he  supposed  the 
cause  of  the  withdrawal  of  these  members  was  to  be  found 
in  the  events  of  the  past  week.  While  he  regretted  that 
any  should  have  felt  called  upon  to  leave,  he  was  grateful 
that  there  were  so  few.  The  pastor  made  no  further  al 
lusion  to  himself  or  the  events  which  were  uppermost  in 
the  minds  of  his  hearers,  but  simply  announced  that  he 
had  now  a  more  pleasing  duty  to  perform. 

The  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  he  said,  had  never 
known  any  period  of  special  religious  awakening.  It  had 
grown  in  numbers  but  slowly,  and  what  gain  had  been 
made  was  chiefly  by  letter.  A  few  had  come  into  it  through 
the  Sunday-school,  the  children  of  members,  mostly  young 
women.  So  far  as  the  young  men  were  concerned,  the 


276  MURVALR   EASTMAN. 

church  had  mainly  been  recruited  by  letters  from  country 
churches — young  men  coming  to  the  city  and  commended 
to  their  watch-care  by  sister  churches.  The  Golden  Lilies 
had  been  glad  to  take  them  by  the  hand  and  help  them 
to  resist  temptation  and  lead  worthy  lives.  Until  within 
a  short  time,  however,  it  could  not  be  said  that  the 
church  had  seemed  to  represent  a  specific,  tangible  force 
in  the  life  by  which  it  was  surrounded.  Now,  however, 
at  the  very  moment  when  it  seemed  least  likely  because 
he  felt  that  it  was  least  deserved — upon  his  part,  at  least 
— the  Holy  Spirit  had  come  upon  them,  hearts  were  re 
joicing  in  a  new-found  love  and  light,  and  those  which 
had  grown  cold  were  awakened  to  a  new  zeal  in  the  serv 
ice  of  God.  The  knowledge  of  God's  truth  was  not  new 
to  the  souls  who  were  asking  admission  to  the  Church. 
From  their  earliest  days  they  had  been  acquainted  with 
the  things  of  God.  They  did  not  need  to  ask,  "  What 
shall  I  do  to  be  saved?"  The  inquiry  that  came  from 
their  lips  was,  "  What  can  I  do  for  the  cause  of  him  who 
gave  his  life  for  us?  How  can  I  aid  in  the  spread  of  his 
Spirit  among  men?" 

The  most  pleasing  duty  of  his  pastorate  was  to  an 
nounce  that  during  the  past  week  a  large  number  of  ap 
plications  for  membership  had  been  received — more  than 
during  any  other  week  in  the  history  of  the  church  in  its 
present  location — the  greater  number  of  which  were  on  pro 
fession  of  their  faith,  and  he  was  glad  to  say  that  they  in 
cluded  all  ranks,  and  classes  of  society  whose  lives  religion 
was  least  apt  to  touch,  those  who  complacently  termed 
themselves  "  the  highest,"  and  those  who  were  pityingly  or 
contemptuously  classed  as  "  the  lowest."  He  believed 
these  applications  were  in  answer  to  prayer,  the  yearning, 
importunate  prayer  of  faithful  souls  who  had  long  be- 


II  BLOOD.  277 

sought  the  Lord  for  a  visible  token  that  their  faith  was 
not  in  vain.  The  answer  had  not  come,  perhaps,  as  he 
had  expected.  Sorrow  and  humiliation  had  attended  it. 
Hearts  had  been  wrung  with  temptation  and  souls  beset 
with  doubt.  A  week  before,  he  had  trembled  at  the 
thought  of  undertaking  what  seemed  a  plain  duty.  To 
day  he  recognized  that  God  had  testified  his  approval, 
and  he  felt  humbled  and  contrite  before  'Him  that  he 
should  have  hesitated  to  follow  the  leading  of  the  Spirit, 
the  promptings  of  that  inward  monitor  given  by  the  Di 
vine  to  every  soul  for  its  guidance  in  the  path  of  duty. 

Then  he  read  the  names  of  those  asking  to  be  admitted 
to  the  church.  At  first  there  was  a  solemn  silence.  As 
one  Veil-known  name  after  another  was  reported  sobs 
began  to  be  heard,  and  men  tried  to  hide  their  emotion 
while  women  openly  wiped  away  their  tears.  But  when 
the  pastor  uttered  brokenly  the  names  of  Jonas  Under 
wood  and  Hannah,  his  wife,  a  sudden  wave  of  passionate 
feeling  swept  over  the  congregation;  the  pastor  bowed 
his  face  upon  his  hands  and  Deacon  Goodyear,  in  his  thin 
quavering  voice,  struck  up  a  hymn,  by  which  for  centuries 
the  saints  have  been  accustomed  to  express  their  joy  over 
souls  redeemed — a  hymn  rarely  before  heard  in  the  Church 
of  the  Golden  Lilies.  The  choir  and  congregation  took 
it  up  with  instinctive  accord,  while  the  voice  of  the  great 
organ  surged  above  them,  hiding  discord  and  mingling  all 
in  one  great  wave  of  soulful  melody,  and  the  face  of 
the  Christ,  glorified  by  the  midday  sun,  looked  calmly  and 
approvingly  down  upon  the  tearful  multitude.  Every  one 
knew  the  relation  which  the  young  minister  had  sustained 
to  Jonas  Underwood,  and  looked  upon  this  as  a  part  of 
his  reward  for  duty  manfully  performed.  The  hymn 
ceased  suddenly,  leaving  its  echoes  to  die  away  among 


278  Ml'KVALE   EAST  MAX. 

the  resounding  arches,  as  Dr.  Farewell,  fearing  for  his 
patient's  safety,  stepped  to  his  side  and  Vith  the  aid  of 
his  wife  moved  back  into  the  study  the  chair  on  which 
Underwood  reclined. 

In  the  hush  that  followed,  Mr.  Townley  was  seen  to  rise, 
nodding  his  gray  head  vigorously  toward  the  pastor,  who 
was  striving  to  master  his  emotions,  and  extending  toward 
him  a  paper  which  some  one  sitting  near  handed  up  to  the 
pulpit. 

Ezekiel  Townley  had  been  the  b£te  ?wir  of  the  Church 
of  the  Golden  Lilies.  He  was  the  product  of  an  unbroken 
line  of  stalwart  believers  dating  back  to  the  time  when  the 
Covenant  was  first  proclaimed  among  the  hills  of  Scot 
land.  He  was  a  type  of  that  race  and  faith,  the  biggest 
word  in  whose  lexicon  is  the  potent  dissyllabe,  "Duty;" 
a  man  who  would  go  contentedly  enough  to  the  stake,  if 
need  were,  but  would  not  countenance  evil  nor  cease  to 
denounce  wrong,  in  high  places  or  low.  Sharp-tongued 
and  unrelenting,  he  had  not  only  withdrawn  from  the 
church,  but  had  said  many  bitter  things  about  it.  The 
utmost  curiosity  was  therefore  aroused  to  know  what  his 
communication  might  be. 

The  paper,  creased  and  worn,  was  the  letter  of  with 
drawal  he  had  taken  from  the  church  years  before,  and 
when  it  was  read,  the  old  man,  standing  erect  in  the  aisle, 
said  simply: 

"  I  would  like  to  surrender  it,  sir,  and  resume  my  mem 
bership,  if  the  church  think  me  worthy." 

This  was  too  much  for  the  older  members.  Deacon 
Goodyear  would  no  doubt  have  broken  out  into  song 
again,  but  the  fear  of  disturbing  Underwood  kept  him 
silent.  He,  with  one  or  two  others,  crowded  about  the 
old  man,  however,  and  shook  his  hand  with  tears.  Mr. 


FRESH  BLOOD. 


279 


Townley  did  not  weep.  He  was  not  one  of  those  whose 
emotions  lie  upon  the  surface,  or  whose  face  was  an  index 
of  what  he  felt.  He  only  shook  the  outstretched  hands 
and  nodded  his  gray  head  vigorously  back  and  forth.  The 
audience  witnessed  the  scene  with  profound  emotion. 
The  few  who  were  compelled  to  leave  stole  out  with  the 
utmost  care,  so  as  not  to  cause  any  disturbance. 

Still  another  surprise  was  in  store  for  the  congregation. 
The  pastor  sat  down,  when  Mr.  Metziger  came  forward, 
and,  taking  his  place  in  front  of  the  pulpit,  asked  leave 
to  address  a  few  words  to  the  audience.  So  intense  was 
the  surprise,  that  he  had  uttered  a  dozen  sentences  be 
fore  the  reporters  recovered  themselves  sufficiently  to 
take  down  his  words. 

"  The  twenty-two  gentlemen  whose  names  are  affixed 
to  this  paper,"  he  said,  after  receiving  assent  to  his  request 
to  be  allowed  to  say  a  word,  "have  authorized  me  to 
speak  for  them  in  presenting  a  somewhat  unusual  petition 
to  a  Christian  church.  None  of  us  are  what  is  termed  re 
ligious  men,  that  is,  none  of  us  have  ever  been  actively 
connected  with  any  sect  or  denomination.  Some  have 
been  baptized,  but  have  never  made  any  profession  of 
faith,  while  others,  like  myself,  may  perhaps  be  termed 
unclassified  results  of  religious  divergency.  I  am  one  of 
those  of  Israelitish  descent,  who,  centuries  ago,  during  the 
Jewish  persecution  in  Spain,  renounced  a  Judaism  they 
had  long  perceived  to  be  insufficient  and  embraced  a 
Christianity  they  but  half  approved ;  who  fled  thence  to 
the  Low  Countries  in  the  hope  of  relief,  and  afterward 
came  to  America,  seeking  only  shelter  from  religious  per 
secution.  Since  that  time  they  have  been  not  exactly  un 
believers,  but  rarely  found  among  the  recognized  sup 
porters  of  any  particular  faith  or  creed.  Perhaps  they 


280  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

have  grown  shy  of  formularies;  yet  some  of  them  have 
carried  in  their  very  names  the  evidence  of  an  inherited 
faith  that  reaches  back,  in  an  unbroken  line,  to  Nazareth. 

"  I  am  not  authorized  to  speak  of  the  religious  belief 
of  the  other  signers  of  this  paper,  farther  than  to  say  that 
we  are  each  and  all  of  us  firm  believers  in  a  just  God  who 
desires  the  welfare  and  uplifting  of  mankind,  who  loves 
truth  and  equality  and  hates  iniquity,  and  that  we  all  be 
lieve  that  the  principles  which  Christianity  prescribes  for 
the  regulation  and  adjustment  of  human  relations — the 
rule  of  love  to  our  fellows,  and  the  obligation  to  bear  one 
another's  burdens — constitute  the  only  true  basis  of  so 
cial  ethics  and  should  control  and  govern  every  relation 
of  human  life. 

"  We  cannot  justly  be  said  to  be  disbelievers  in  any 
Christian  doctrine,  but  some  of  us  would  hardly  desire  to 
profess  a  positive  belief  in  some  of  them — they  seem  to 
be  as  yet  beyond  our  grasp,  our  specific  and  positive  de 
termination.  Whether  we  shall  ever  reach  a  clear  con 
viction  of  their  truth  or  not  we  cannot  say.  I  will  not 
conceal  from  you,  also,  that  we  do  not  desire  to  discuss 
these  questions,  feeling  that  it  would  be  unprofitable  if 
not  absolutely  harmful  to  do  so.  Some  of  us,  at  least, 
have  a  very  clear  impression  that  there  has  already  been 
too  much  controversy  in  regard  to  the  will  of  God  and  the 
means  by  which  he  may  or  may  not  accomplish  his  pur 
pose,  and  not  enough  consideration  given  to  man's  nature 
and  the  means  by  which  we  may  perform  the  will  of  God 
on  earth  and  discharge  the  duties  toward  humanity  which 
we  believe  he  has  laid  on  all,  whether  those  whom  the 
Church  recognizes  as  believers  or  not.  We  desire  most 
earnestly  to  promote  the  acceptation  of  the  rures:  'Love 
thy  neighbor  as  thyself,'  *  Do  unto  others  as  ye  would  that 


FRESH  BLOOD.  281 

they  should  do  to  you,'  and  '  Bear  ye  one  another's  bur 
dens,'  as  the  practical  and  universal  rules  of  human  con 
duct  in  every  relation  of  life.  We  desire  to  do  this  with 
out  any  imputation  of  the  standards  of  faith  of  the 
church,  or  of  any  individual,  and  without  any  profession 
of  acceptance  of  them  unless  we  shall  see  fit  individually 
to  profess  the  same  and  apply  for  membership. 

"  While  we  have  the  warmest  sympathy  with  the  work 
and  mission  of  the  Church,  so  far  as  it  means  the  promo 
tion  of  justice  and  mercy  among  mankind  and  the  improve 
ment  of  human  conditions,  we  do  not  feel  justified  in  ask 
ing  to  be  received  as  members  of  a  communion,  all  of 
whose  tenets  we  could  not  heartily  avow  and  maintain. 
At  the  same  time,  we  believe  that  Christianity  represents 
an  aggregation  of  forces  that  make  for  human  meliora 
tion  to  a  much  greater  degree  than  any  other  human  in 
stitution,  and  has  the  means  to  make  them  more  effective 
in  the  promotion  of  human  welfare,  than  any  other.  We 
feel,  too,  that  a  just  and  true  economy  of  these  forces, 
wherever  they  may  be  found,  demands  that  they  be 
brought  into  sincere  harmony  and  accord  with  the  Church 
as  an  ameliorating  influence  in  life  and  society. 

"  With  no  wish  to  cause  schism  or  distrust,  but  with  a 
hearty  desire,  on  the  contrary,  to  avoid  it;  W:th  no  pur 
pose  to  weaken  Christianity,  but  with  a  sincere  hope  that 
the  number  of  believers  may  increase ;  we  have  come  to 
ask  this  church  if  there  is  not  some  way  by  which  we,  and 
others  of  like  views  and  purposes,  may  actively  co-operate 
with  it  in  the  promotion  of  this  phase  of  its  work,  without 
being  bound  by  its  other  tenets,  or  expected  or  required 
to  take  a  part  in  their  assertion  or  promulgation. 

"  We  are  aware  that  we  might  become  members  of  the 
congregation,  and  so  do  something  in  this  direction. 


282  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

Many  of  us  have  long  sustained  this  ill-defined  relation  to 
some  church  organization,  and  I  think  all  the  names  on 
this  paper  will  be  recognized  as  liberal,  active,  and  earnest 
promoters  of  public  charities,  public  morals,  and  all  those 
movements  which  tend  to  the  relief  and  elevation  of  our 
fellows.  Our  only  request  is,  whether  something  cannot 
be  devised  which  will  make  the  Church  a  more  effective 
force  in  this  direction,  and  at  the  same  time  enable  us  to 
do  more  good. 

"  We  will  make  this  application  to  the  Church  first, 
because  it  represents  the  largest  number  of  professed  be 
lievers  in  these  principles,  and  we  think  the  influences 
making  for  this  practical  adoption  ought  to  be  concen 
trated  rather  than  dissipated.  We  think  that  societies 
for  the  extension  of  these  principles,  or  for  applying 
them  to  one  particular  plan  of  human  relation,  while  by 
no  means  insignificant,  are  of  far  less  value  than  if  they 
represented  the  combined  popular  opinion  of  those  who 
really  desire  such  results.  We  think  that  this  is  largely 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  Church  has  to  commend,  inspire, 
and  co-operate  with  those  forces  which  do  not  subject 
themselves  entirely  to  ecclesiastical  control. 

"  With  these  views  we  ask  this  church  to  consider 
whether  an  organization  may  not  be  formed  in  connection 
with  it,  and  recognized  by  it,  having  for  its  sole  purpose 
the  practical  extension  of  the  Christian  theory  of  human 
relation,  the  Christian  idea  of  incuts  duty  to  man,  without 
ecclesiastical  control.  There  are  few  who  do  not  believe 
that  such  movements  without  the  co-operation  of  the 
Christian  Church  must  fail.  There  are,  we  believe,  few 
intelligent  Christians  who  do  not  bewail  the  undoubted 
fact  that  Christianity  has  thus  far  failed  to  make  these 
ideas  of  human  relation  the  popular  ideal  of  any  nation. 


FRESH  BLOOD.  283 

"  We  have  no  particular  plan  or  theory  to  propose ;  we 
merely  ask  this  church  if  they  will  unite  with  us  in  an  or 
ganization  which  shall  consider  how  collective  public 
agencies  may  be  directed  to  the  betterment  of  human  con 
ditions,  and  what  opportunities  for  promoting  the  indi 
vidual  welfare  of  those  whom  we  may  be  able  to  reach 
may  be  from  time  to  time  devised  and  put  in  operation 
by  these  conjoined  forces. 

"  We  ask  this  question  respectfully,  sincerely,  and  with 
the  lively  hope  that  it  may  receive  a  response  which  shall 
result  in  the  advancement  of  human  welfare  and  redound 
to  the  glory  of  God." 

The  lawyer  spoke  with  deep  feeling  and  evident  sin 
cerity.  When  he  had  concluded,  a  long-drawn  sigh,  which 
might  have  meant  approval  or  relief,  swept  over  the 
audience,  and  there  was  a  murmured  "  Amen,"  from  lips 
little  accustomed  to  pious  ejaculation.  During  the  en 
tire  time  Mr.  Townley  had  nodded  a  constant  and  em 
phatic  approval.  When  Mr.  Metziger  had  concluded  and 
read  the  names  of  the  signers  of  this  unusual  petition,  a 
young  man  who  was  known  as  one  of  the  most  devout 
and  unassuming,  as  well  as  most  learned  and  faithful  mem 
bers  of  the  church,  rose  in  the  gallery,  and  after  expressing 
his  gratification,  said  that  he  thought  this  a  very  import 
ant  and  serious  matter  which  should  be  deliberately  and 
prayerfully  considered. 

There  was,  he  said,  a  general  feeling  throughout  the 
Christian  and  indeed  the  civilized  world  that  we  stand 
very  near  to  the  birth  of  great  events,  the  development  of 
new  forces.  As  for  himself,  he  did  not  fear  for  Chris 
tianity.  It  was  a  force  which  need  not  fear  supersedure. 
The  will  of  God  was  in  no  danger  of  suffering  defeat. 
Whatever  made  men  and  women  better,  whatever  tended 


284  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

to  ameliorate  human  conditions  was  an  adjunct  of  Chris 
tianity.  He  agreed  with  the  memorialists  that  a  closer 
union  of  all  such  forces  was  desirable,  and  he  thought 
that  the  Church  in  all  its  branches  should  lead,  animate 
and  inspire  such  a  union. 

He  therefore  moved  that  the  thanks  of  this  church 
and  congregation  be  extended  to  these  gentlemen  for 
their  earnest  and  respectful  overture,  and  that  a  commit 
tee  of  five  be  appointed  by  the  pastor  to  meet  a  like  num 
ber  of  the  petitioners,  the  pastor  to  preside  at  the  joint 
meeting  and  consider  what  might  be  advisable  to  do  in 
the  premises;  and  in  the  mean  time  he  trusted  the  church 
would  make  it  a  matter  of  especial  prayer,  that  they  might 
have  the  divine  guidance  in  their  deliberations. 

The  pastor  put  this  motion,  which  was  briefly  but  earn 
estly  seconded  by  one  of  the  deacons — requesting  all  who 
favored  it  to  rise.  Hardly  had  the  words  left  his  lips  when 
Mr.  Townley  was  on  his  feet  nodding  his  head  in  approval 
as  he  shot  his  thumb  vehemently  upward  above  his  closed 
fist: 

"Up!  all  up!" 

The  vote  was  unanimous,  so  far  as  appeared,  for  no  one 
arose  in  response  to  the  summons  to  "  all  opposed ; "  and 
after  the  committees  were  appointed  and  a  night  desig 
nated  for  the  meeting  of  the  church  to  hear  their  report, 
the  benediction  of  peace  which  ages  have  sanctified  floated 
over  their  heads,  and  the  organ  pealed  out  a  tender  and 
jubilant  dismissal,  for  the  physician  had  reported  that  his 
patient's  agitation  was  only  a  burst  of  grateful  joy,  and 
not  in  any  degree  perilous. 

The  pastor  waited  in  front  of  his  pulpit  to  exchange 
greetings  with  the  members  of  his  congregation.  Among 
those  who  shook  his  hand  was  Lilian  Kishu.  His  face 


A    MODKRX  MIRACLE.  285 

beamed  with  pleasure  as  he  looked  down  into  her  ques 
tioning  eyes,  thanked  her  for  her  presence,  and  expressed 
the  hope  that  she  might  not  be  alone  in  the  family  pew 
again.  That  was  all.  There  was  no  furtive  glance,  no 
word  or  tone  that  told  of  love  that  would  not  be  denied. 
Everything  showed  that  he  had  accepted  the  situation. 
He  was  no  longer  her  lover.  Her  heart  sank  as  she  real 
ized  this  fact.  Perhaps  she  did  not  love  him  as  passion 
ately  as  she  might  have  wished,  but  she  felt  chagrined 
that  he  should  have  accepted  her  words  as  a  finality. 


CHAPTER   XXV. 

A    MODERN    MIRACLE. 

JONAS  UNDERWOOD  had  improved  wonderfully  during 
the  week  he  had  passed  in  the  pastor's  study  of  the  Church 
of  the  Golden  Lilies.  The  intention  had  been  to  have 
him  removed  to  a  hospital  as  soon  as  he  was  able  to  en 
dure  the  fatigue,  but  circumstances  had  deferred  it  from 
day  to  day,  until  it  had  really  become  a  question  when  it 
would  be  attempted.  There  was  something  about  his  sur 
roundings  that  seemed  to  suit  the  fervid,  intense  nature 
of  the  man  so  thoroughly  that  Dr.  Farewell  hesitated,  from 
day  to  day,  to  recommend  the  course  which  seemed 
proper  and  reasonable.  Now  that  Underwood  was  able 
to  provide  for  himself,  there  seemed  no  good  reason  why 
he  should  continue  to  occupy  the  rooms  which,  though  in 
tended  for  the  personal  use  of  the  pastor,  actually  be 
longed  to  the  church.  The  doctor  knew  that  his  patient 
was  not  strong  enough  for  removal  to  another  climate, 
though  he  had  let  fall  some  hint  of  that  sort.  So,  too,  it 


286  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

would  not  do  to  take  him  to  a  hospital,  where  he  would 
be  separated  for  the  greater  part  of  the  time  from  his 
wife.  He  would  have  there  .the  best  of  care  and  treat 
ment,  but  it  was  more  than  probable  that  the  wife  herself 
would  sink  under  the  separation. 

There  is  something  very  wonderful  in  the  oneness  which 
grows  up  between  two  loving  souls  in  a  life-time  of  unre 
stricted  intercourse.  Two  people  more  unlike  than  Jonas 
and  Hannah  Underwood  it  would  be  difficult  to  find. 
Every  one  saw  that  at  a  glance.  She  lived  for  him.  Hers 
was  one  of  those  natures  that  must  always  be  a  tender  for 
another,  if  it  is  to  attain  its  highest  development.  If  she 
had  only  herself  to  care  for  she  would  have  done  it  quietly, 
contentedly,  and  without  any  painful  yearning  for  the  un 
attainable.  At  the  same  time  she  would  have  enjoyed 
little  happiness.  There  are  natures,  especially  among 
women,  to  whom  the  joy  of  self-obliteration,  devotion  to 
another's  happiness,  is  so  much  above  all  other  joys  that 
it  often  makes  amends  for  many  deprivations.  Her  hus 
band's  nature  was  above  her  comprehension  or,  more 
properly,  above  her  definition.  She  could  not  follow  him 
in  his  thought,  yet  she  understood  by  a  sort  of  instinct 
even  when  he  spoke  of  things  entirely  beyond  her  grasp. 
In  her  younger  days  she  had  loved  him  with  an  undoubt- 
ing  faith  in  his  power  of  achievement.  She  had  never 
any  fear  that  he  would  fail  to  accomplish  what  he  under 
took.  She  was  not  very  ambitious.  She  had  never  cared 
to  be  rich,  except  to  gratify  his  desire.  Given  her  hus 
band,  a  quiet  home,  and  her  children,  and  she  would  have 
been  content. 

When  her  husband  entered  the  service,  she  was  rather 
glad  than  otherwise.  She  knew,  of  course,  that  he  would 
be  exposed  to  danger;  but  she  realized  his  ecstatic  devo- 


A    MODERN   MIRACLE.  287 

tion  to  the  idea  of  right,  and  thought  he  would  be  happier 
in  the  performance  of  a  soldier's  duty  than  in  any  pros 
perity  its  avoidance  might  bring.  She  recognized  the  su 
preme  grandeur  of  the  sentiment  by  which  he  was  inspired, 
the  idea  of  doing  good  to  humanity,  or  rather  of  preventing 
evil  from  being  done.  Hannah  Underwood  felt  these 
things,  when  her  husband  marched  away.  She  did  not 
formulate  them,  could  not  have  done  so  had  she  tried. 
She  only  held  up  her  little  children  for  him  to  kiss ;  kissed 
him  herself,  forcing  back  her  tears ;  waved  her  handker 
chief  to  him  from  the  porch ;  wept  quietly  when  he  had 
gone  from  her  sight,  and  then  thought  half-sadly,  half- 
gladly,  of  the  pride  and  happiness  he  would  feel  in  per 
forming  the  duty  he  had  undertaken.  Had  he  fallen  she 
would  always  have  thought  of  that.  When  he  returned 
and  took  up  the  harder  battle  of  life,  she  was  disturbed 
because  he  was  not  happy;  when  the  daughter  disap 
peared  she  crept  closer  to  him  for  sympathy,  and  when 
misfortune  came  and  the  boy  on  whom  their  hopes  had 
begun  to  center  died,  she  clung  closer  still  lest  the  shock 
should  destroy  that  life  which  was  more  than  life  to  her. 
And  since  that  day,  while  her  thoughts  had  not  been  all 
of  him,  they  had  all  been  for  him.  She  could  be  parted 
from  him  without  sorrow  if  he  had  work  to  do,  anything 
to  fill  his  heart  and  make  him  happy,  but  should  she  have 
to  think  that  he  was  separated  from  her,  longing  for  her, 
served  by  other  hands,  wishing  that  she  would  come,  the 
wise  physician  knew  that  he  would  soon  have  another 
patient  on  his  hands,  whose  disease  would  be  more  peril 
ous  than  the  lacerated  lung  which  was  mending  so  rapidly 
in  the  shadow  of  the  Golden  Lilies. 

Such  is  the  marvel  of  love,  the  mystery  of  marriage, 
which  to-day  moots  whether  it  be  not  a  failure,  that  goes 


288  MUKVALE   EAXTMAX. 

on  generation  after  generation,  welding  unlikeness  into 
unity,  and  working  out  the  infinite  problem  through  the 
operation  of  Divine  law  which  brings  a  vastly  better  out 
of  an  unperfectible  worse.  Thus  love  is  forever  the  divine 
light  of  progress,  and  the  brightest  hope  of  human  better 
ment.  When  domestic  love  sinks  into  insignificance,  be 
comes  a  thing  for  laughter  and  contempt,  the  sheet-anchor 
of  civilization  is  lost  and  the  world  must  drift  backward 
until  it  finds  new  moorings.  Love  alone  can  keep  the 
human  soul  from  decay,  the  human  heart  from  debase 
ment,  and  society  from  demoralization.  Love  makes  a 
man  a  hero,  loving  not  himself  alone  but  others.  Its  de 
basement  renders  him  a  brute,  and  makes  him  the  sire  of 
brutes  who  delight  not  merely  in  the  gratification  of  self 
ish  instincts  but  in  the  degradation  of  their  fellows.  It 
is  the  key  of  all  that  is  grand  in  humanity — the  one  touch 
of  God  that  casts  out  fear! 

"See  here,  dominie,'1  said  Dr.  Farewell,  meeting  the 
young  pastor  upon  the  street,  a  few  days  after  his  return. 
"  You're  just  the  man  I  want  to  see.  How  about  Under 
wood?" 

"  He's  not  worse,  I  hope?  " 

"  A  long  way  from  it;  doing  splendidly.  In  fact,  I  had 
no  idea  he  could  gain  so  much  in  so  short  a  time.  It's 
the  church,  you  see." 

"The  church?  You  don't  mean  to  say  the  Golden 
Lilies  is  a  healing  shrine?  "  . 

" Not  exactly;  yet  it's  about  the  same  in  effect.  I  have 
never  doubted  that  wonderful  cures  were  effected  in  the 
old  shrines  to  which  men  crowded  in  the  hope  and  belief 
that  they  would  be  healed ;  but  I  never  had  the  chance 
to  witness  it  before." 

"How  is  that?" 


A    MODERN1  MIRACLE.  289 

"  Have  you  seen  Underwood  lately?  " 

"  Only  for  a  few  moments  once  or  twice."  The  minis 
ter  spoke  regretfully. 

"  Don't  reproach  yourself,"  said  the  physician  heartily. 
"You  have  had  enough  to  do,  and  you  are  doing  it  well. 
That  is  a  good  deal  to  say  to  a  man  who  has  undertaken 
so  large  a  contract.  Not  only  is  '  Every  one  to  his  trade ' 
a  good  maxim,  but,  '  Every  one  to  that  part  of  his  trade  that 
he  can  do  best,'  is  the  true  economy  of  social  force. 
Specialists  in  all  professions  are  the  ones  who  move  the 
world  forward,  and  it  is  folly  to  spoil  a  good  specialist  to 
make  a  fair  general  practitioner.  Now  you  were  cut  out 
for  a  specialist;  one  can  see  that  at  a  glance.  You 
weren't  made  to  go  around  to  just  so  many  sick  souls  or 
weak  bodies  every  day,  and  give  just  so  many  drops  of 
spiritual  soothing-syrup  to  each.  Mind  you,  I'm  not  say 
ing  anything  against  those  who  can.  There -are  people 
who  always  keep  their  sympathies  on  tap.  All  one  needs  do 
is  to  turn  the  spigot  and  out  runs  consolation.  Sometimes 
it's  a  little  stale,  and  very  often  frothy ;  but  it  does  a  deal 
of  good  nevertheless.  Some  patients  need  to  be  cod 
dled,  need  to  hear  the  fizz  of  out-gushing  sympathy. 
You're  not  the  kind  of  man  for  such.  I  don't  mean  to  say 
that  you  are  any  better,  or  any  more  earnest  than  many 
of  these  men.  The  one  who  merely  alleviates  is  no  less 
truly  a  benefactor  than  he  who  finds  the  hidden  root  of 
disease  and  suggests  a  cure." 

"And  which  do  you  do,  doctor?"  asked  Eastman  with 
a  smile.  "  Do  'you  count  yourself  a  specialist  or  a  gen 
eral  practitioner?" 

"  Well,  I  am  something  of  both — or  rather  something  of 
a  specialist  and  a  good  deal  of  a  general  practitioner.  I 
can  give  sweetened  water — haven't  the  least  objection  to 
19 


290 


MURVALE   EASTMAN. 


doing  it.  In  fact,  I  believe  it  one  of  the  most  effectual 
and  desirable  remedies  in  the  pharmacopeia.  I  am  per 
fectly  willing  to  sit  still,  prescribe  harmless  nothings,  and 
furnish  sympathy  or  apprehension,  just  as  the  patient's 
condition  may  require.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  there 
are  patients  who  would  never  get  well  if  they  did  not  think 
themselves  incurable.  The  idea  of  being  the  subject  of  a 
miracle  is  amazingly  inspiring  to  some  people.  At  the 
same  time  I  like  to  study  a  hard  case,  to  trace  some  hid 
den  and  mysterious  pathway  of  disease  into,  and  perhaps 
clean  through,  the  realm  of  the  specialist." 
"  And  how  are  you  treating  Underwood?  " 
"  I  was  talking  about  you,  not  about  him.  He's  a 
curiosity.  Have  you  ever  studied  him?  Ah,  yes,  I  know 
you  have — on  a  street-car.  That  was  a  good  piece  of 
work,  too.  Not  many  men  would  dare  do  it ;  but  it  didn't 
trouble  you  any.  You  simply  wanted  to  know  something 
and  took  the  direct  way  to  learn.  You're  all  right  if  you 
don't  make  the  common  error  of  the  specialist." 
"What  is  that?"  asked  Eastman  earnestly. 
"  Get  into  the  habit  of  standing  in  your  own  light," 
answered  the  physician  gravely.  "You  see,  a  specialist 
who  is  worth  anything  keeps  building  up  theories.  It's 
his  business,  you  know ;  and  the  great  danger  with  such  a 
one  is  that  his  theory  may  get  so  high  and  cast  so  strong 
a  shadow  on  the  facts  he  is  investigating  that  he  won't  see 
them  exactly  in  their  true  light." 

"  Well,  I've  no  theories,  and  don't  mean  to  have." 
"  Don't  say  that,"  replied  the  physfcian  earnestly. 
"  Theories  are  the  diamonds  of  truth.  Experience  crys 
tallizes  always  into  theory,  and  only  when  it  has  done  so  is 
the  world  really  enriched  by  it.  The  trouble  is  that  some 
people  will  never  wait  for  their  experience  to  crystallize ; 


A    MODERN  MIRACLE.  291 

they  are  visionaries.  Others  think  their  diamonds  are  the 
only  true  ones  in  the  market;  they  are  bigots." 

"  You  are  in  such  a  philosophical  mood,  this  morning, 
doctor,  that  we  are  getting  a  good  way  from  Underwood," 
laughed  the  minister. 

"On  the  contrary,"  said  the  man  of  simples  with  a  shrewd 
look,  "  I  have  had  him  in  my  eye  from  the  first,  and  we 
have  been  going  straight  toward  him  all  the  while.  I  was 
afraid  if  I  asked  you  to  come  with  me  you  would  put  up 
some  excuse  of  an  imperative  duty  you  had  set  out  to  per 
form  ;  and  I  understand  your  conscience  too  well  to  ex 
pect  it  to  give  way  to  solicitation." 

"  So  you  wheedled  me — played  the  general  practitioner 
on  me,  eh?  " 

"  Exactly ;  I  meant  to  make  you  come  anyhow,  don't 
you  see?"  The  physician  spoke  with  gratified  positive- 
ness. 

"  Well,  you  need  not  have  been  so  deep.  I  was  quite 
willing,"  was  the  laughing  reply. 

"How  was  I  to  know  that?  After  I  had  toled  you 
along  about  three  squares,  I  was  sure  you  would  not  back 
out.  I  want  to  talk  with  you  further  about  Underwood 
before  we  reach  the  church ;  so  if  you  are  in  no  haste  we 
will  walk  slowly." 

"  Only  necessity  could  make  me  willing  to  lose  a  mo 
ment  of  your  society,  doctor,"  said  Eastman,  banteringly. 

"Thanks;  you  are  so  little  given  to  compliment,  that 
I  prize  even  a  forced  one  very  highly.  But  about  Under 
wood,  now,  I  don't  know  what  to  do  with  him." 

"  In  what  way  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Why,  of  course,  he  can't  stay  there  in  the  study — al 
ways." 

"  I  suppose  not." 


292  M  CRT  ALE   EASTMAA". 

"  And  it  would  be  entirely  safe  to  move  him  now." 

"  To  a  hospital  or  Florida,  you  mean?  " 

"  Well,  somewhere ;  he  couldn't  stand  much  of  a  journey 
yet.  But  here  is  the  trouble :  I  really  believe  the  church 
has  actually  curative  qualities  for  him." 

"How  is  that?" 

"  Has  it  ever  occurred  to  you  that  the  man  is  a  poet, 
unvoiced,  but  full-souled?  His  range  of  perception  and 
power  of  self -forgetful  exaltation  are  surprising.  There  is 
something  stately,  Oriental  and  unique  about  him,  too. 
You  have  seen  the  harsh  side  of  him  more  than  I,  per 
haps;  and  I  can  well  imagine  that  he  may  not  have  been 
so  impressive  in  the  mingling  of  humor  and  sententious- 
ness  that  helplessness  evoked.  But  he  is  a  changed  man, 
now.'" 

"  fie  has  made  application  to  join  the  church,"  said  the 
minister  gravely. 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  rejoined  the  physician,  impa 
tiently.  "  He  had  religion  enough  before,  just  as  much 
as  he  has  now — I  am  not  sure  but  more.  But  it  was  a 
different  kind.  I  tell  you  the  man  who  keeps  up  the  fight 
against  want  and  doom,  year  after  year,  never  once  losing 
his  grip,  nor  allowing  the  loving  woman  for  whom  he 
would  give  his  heart's  blood  to  despair — that  man  is  the 
best  possible  exponent  of  the  Christ-spirit.  He  may  never 
consciously  pray,  nor  ever  join  in  worship,  but  he  lives  a 
Gloria  Patri  that  makes  the  paeans  of  an  angel-choir 
seem  weak.  That  is  what  this  man  has  been  doing  for 
years,  fighting  fate,  not  once  thinking  or  caring  for  himself. 
He  has  had  no  backing,  help,  or  sympathy,  simply  because 
he  was  too  brave  to  ask  help  and  too  proud  to  whine  for 
sympathy." 

"  Of  course." 


A    MODERN  MIRACLE. 


293 


"  This  made  it  hard.  It  is  always  harder  for  a  man  to 
carry  a  load  which  he  thinks  is  hopeless,  especially  if  he 
does  it  alone  and  has  to  conceal  his  trouble.  He  had 
neither  sympathy  nor  support  from  outside  until  he  struck 
you.  Then  he  was  too  far  gone  to  realize  the  extent  of 
it.  Now,  his  coming  into  the  study  here  and  the  attend 
ant  conditions  of  his  life  since  have  been  like  a  foretaste 
of  heaven  to  him.  The  quiet,  restful,  shaded  light,  the 
solemn  silence,  the  removal  of  the  stain  upon  his  honor, 
the  very  image  of  the  Christ  which  he  worships  with 
a  fervor  that  would  surprise  an  anchorite — all  these  took 
his  mind  off  the  past,  filled  it  with  new  ideas  and  brought 
a  rest  he  would  never  have  obtained  in  any  other  place. 
So  you  see  the  church  is  really  a  healing  sanctuary." 

"  It  would  seem  so,  indeed,"  answered  the  minister. 
"Why  not  let  him  remain?" 

"  That's  the  very  thing  I  wanted  to  ask  about.  I  don't 
know  whether  he  will  consent,  especially  if  any  fault 
should  be  found  with  his  doing  so.  Of  course  the  study 
is  for  your  occupation,  but  the  church  provides  it  for  a 
special  purpose.  Now  while  the  church  has  taken  Under 
wood  up  and  the  ladies  have  made  his  wife  happier  by 
kind  attentions  than  she  had  been  in  years,  there  may  be 
some  who  might  naturally  look  upon  this  unusual  occu 
pancy  of  church  property  as — well — as  not  exactly  the 
thing,  you  know." 

"I  don't  think  there' are  many  such  in  the  Golden 
Lilies,"  was  the  grave  reply. 

"  Probably  not ;  but  if  Jonas  Underwood  got  the  notion 
there  was  one,  it  is  doubtful  if  anything  could  keep  him 
in  those  rooms  an  hour." 

"  But  it  doesn't  incommode  me  a  particle.  My  aunt 
has  just  returned  to  the  city,  and  is  clamorous  to  atone  for 


294  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

her  suspicions.  She  insists  on  opening  the  old  mansion, 
and  I  have  agreed  to  transfer  my  belongings  there  as  soon 
as  she  makes  some  proposed  repairs.  So  I  have  room 
enough  and  to  spare." 

"  But  that's  not  the  question.  Underwood  isn't  the 
man  to  stay  where  he  is  not  wanted.  Now,  what  I  won 
dered  was,  whether  it  could  not  be  made  to  seem  a  sort 
of  favor  to  you  for  him  to  remain." 

"It  is  a  great  comfort,  indeed,  to  know  that  he  is  there! 
I've  no  doubt  the  religious  awakening  we  are  now  experi 
encing  is  in  great  measure  due  to  his  presence — his  pres 
ence  and  his  words." 

"  Haven't  a  doubt  of  it.  And  take  him  away  to  a  hos 
pital  or  to  Hampton  Roads,  for  instance,  and  I  think — 
well — I  think  the  prayer-meetings  would  lose  a  good  deal, 
to  say  the  least.  But  the  trouble  is  to  make  him  see  it. 
I  shall  have  to  rely  on  you  for  that ;  he  would  suspect  me 
at  once.  There  is  Mrs.  Merton,  her  daughter,  and  Mrs. 
Underwood,"  he  exclaimed,  turning  to  a  passing  carriage. 
"  I  declare,  they  look  enough  alike  to  represent  three  gen 
erations  of  the  same  family.  I  never  expected  to  see 
that  woman  look  so  happy  when  you  called  me  to  prescribe 
for  Underwood.  The  other — Mrs.  Merton — has  taken  a 
great  fancy  to  them.  Good  woman,  though  she  had  a 
narrow  escape ;  owes  a  great  deal  to  you  and  Metziger." 

"Tome?"  in  surprise. 

"  Yes." 

"  Why,  I  did  nothing." 

"  Yes,  you  did.  You  went  to  see  her  the  next  day  after 
the  Thunderbolt  assailed  her." 

"What  of  that?" 

"  Nothing,  only  you  avouched  her  honor.  I  repeat,  she 
owes  you  a  great  debt." 


A    MODERN  MIRACLE.  295 

"Well,  I  forgive  it." 

"  Of  course,  but  she  will  never  forget  it.  That  is  why 
she  is  looking  after  your  proteges." 

"You  think  so?" 

"Certainly;  what  other  reason  could  there  be?" 

"I'm  sure,  I  don't  know.  It's  kind  of  her  to  do  it, 
anyhow." 

The  two  crossed  the  avenue  in  front  of  the  church  as 
they  spoke.  A  carriage  containing  the  ladies  passed 
them  and  the  occupants  bowed  with  contented  smiles  in 
response  to  their  salutation. 

"  Dominie,"  said  the  doctor  looking  after  them,  "  I'm 
coming  to  be  of  your  notion  that  it  pays  to  do  the  square 
thing.  All  the  happiness  in  that  carriage,  and  all  there  is 
in  yonder,"  nodding  toward  the  study,  "is  due  to  one 
good  impulse.  If  you  hadn't  taken  Underwood's  place, 

and  if — and  if — and  if !  How  many  things  have 

sprung  from  it?  How  long  has  it  been?  When  will  its 
influence  end?  Really,  I  am  afraid  that  in  teaching  me 
your  ideas  of  duty  to  man,  you  will  lead  me  to  embrace 
your  ideas  of  religion,  too." 

"  God  grant  it!  "  said  the  young  minister,  huskily,  as  he 
stretched  out  his  hand  which  the  other  grasped  heartily. 

They  entered  the  study  and  found  Metziger  in  consul 
tation  with  his  client.  After  a  moment's  scrutiny  of  his 
patient's  condition,  and  playfully  warning  him  to  beware 
of  the  lawyer  and  his  wiles,  Dr.  Farewell  introduced  the 
subject  of  a  change  of  location. 

"  I  saw  that  little  fling  in  the  Thunderbolt"  said  the 
lawyer,  "  and  came  here  at  once,  expecting  to  find  Under 
wood  crazy  to  get  away,  as  indeed  I  did.  But  he's  got 
over  it  now,  and  to  show  how  much  more  influence  a 
lawyer  has  than  a  minister  and  doctor  both,  I'll  just  tell 


296  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

you  that  the  matter  is  settled.  Mr.  Underwood  would 
not  leave  here  now,  if  you  both  ordered  him  out.  Would 
you?  "  turning  to  his  client. 

"  I  shouldn't  want  to  go  quite  so  far  as  that,"  said  the 
sick  man  huskily,  "  but  I  won't,  by  any  one  else's  orders." 

"  What  does  this  mean?  "  asked  the  doctor.  "  I  can  un 
derstand  why  I  should  feel  anxious  about  the  matter,  but 
what  you  have  to  do  with  it,  I  can't  see." 

"Well,  doctor,"  said  the  lawyer,  rolling  his  great  head 
good-naturedly  from  side  to  side,  "  you  would  hardly  un 
derstand  if  I  were  to  tell  you,  and  I  guess  you'll  find  out 
about  as  soon  as  I  could  explain." 

A  meaning  smile  passed  between  the  lawyer  and  his 
client.  After  a  little  time  Metziger  and  the  doctor  passed 
out,  leaving  Murvale  Eastman  with  the  man  of  whose 
evident  happiness  Providence  had  so  mysteriously  made 
him  the  instrument. 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

"ALAS,  POOR  GHOST!" 

"  I  WANT  to  ask  you  about  a  matter  of  importance  to 
me,  and  perhaps  of  some  moment  to  you,"  said  Jonas 
Underwood,  as  soon  as  they  were  left  alone.  He  spoke 
with  that  hesitating  reverence  of  manner  with  which  he 
had  always  addressed  the  young  minister,  since  he  had  been 
brought  into  the  study.  The  revelation  that  the  man  who 
had  taken  his  place  as  driver  and  the  pastor  of  the  Golden 
Lilies  were  one  and  the  same  person,  seemed  to  have 
done  much  to  subdue  this  brave  spirit  whom  all  the  woes 
of  life  had  been  unable  to  dishearten. 


l'ALAS,    POOR    GHOST!"  297 

"  I  am  quite  at  your  service,"  said  Eastman  cheerfully, 
as  he  drew  a  chair  to  the  side  of  the  couch. 

"  I  wish  to  have  a  delicate  and  perhaps  difficult  inquiry 
prosecuted,  which  I  do  not  care  to  intrust  to  other 
hands."  The  invalid  spoke  in  the  peculiar  labored  manner 
which  indicates  bronchial  disease,  and  picked  uneasily  at 
the  knitted  rug  of  red  worsted  which  was  thrown  over 
him,  as  if  to  hide  some  embarrassment. 

"  I  shall  be  glad  to  undertake  it  for  you,  though  I  cannot 
promise  anything  brilliant  in  the  way  of  results.  I  don't 
think  I  was  cut  out  for  a  detective.  Wouldn't  you  better 
put  it  in  Metziger's  hands?" 

"  It  is  just  because  this  is  not  work  that  a  detective  can 
be  trusted  with  that  I  ask  you  to  help  me.  It  may  lead  to 
knowledge  that  no  one — well,  no  one  but  you — should 
possess,  or  it  may  lead  up  to  a  s'one  wall  which  none  can 
overleap.  It  may  lead  to  mercy  which  should  never  be 
forgotten ;  to  wrong  that  should  not  be  forgiven,  or 
merely  to  darkness  that  cannot  be  penetrated.  At  all 
events,  I  do  not  care  to  intrust  it  to  another.  Will  you 
take  charge  of  it?  Get  such  help  as  you  will,  but  keep  it 
in  your  own  hands.  Don't  ever  let  go  the  reins." 

The  sick  man  spoke  excitedly  and  the  glare  of  his  great 
dark  eyes  made  his  wheezing  tones  all  the  more  impres 
sive. 

"  What  is  it?  "  asked  the  minister  cautiously.  "  I  don't 
like  mysteries." 

"There  is  no  mystery  about  it.  You  see  that?"  He 
held  out  the  ring  Lilian  Kishu  had  given  him  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  had  forgotten  it,"  said  Eastman  flushing.  "  It  ought 
to  be  returned  to  her." 

"  But  she  will  not  take  it,"  said  Underwood, 

"Why,  has  she  been  here?" 


298  MURl'ALE   EASTMAX. 

"  Half  a  dozen  times.  She  and  Mrs.  Merton  are  in 
separable,  almost.  I  can't  understand  it.  It  seems  as  if 
she  wanted  to  make  amends  for  her  father's  haste— in  re 
gard  to  Mrs.  Merton,  you  know.  Indeed,  it  would  almost 
seem  as  if  her  father  were  willing  she  should.  Metziger 
says  he  is  using  his  daughter  to  draw  the  plaintiff's  teeth, 
in  the  libel  suit  he  fears.  It  does  look  so.  I  can't  un 
derstand  Wilton  Kishu,  anyhow.  I  used  to  know  him 
when  he  was  foreman  in  a  printing-office  and  carried  his 
dinner  in  a  tin  bucket.  That  was  before  he  set  up  in 
business  as  a  speculator.  I  don't  think  he  is  a  bad  man, 
only  just  one  who  took  advantage  of  the  chances  the  law  al 
lowed  him.  But  Metziger  thinks  he's  bad  :  that's  one  rea 
son  I  haven't  told  him  of  this  matter.  Then,  too,  I 
hadn't  any  right  to  do  so.  It  was  your  secret  as  well  as 
mine." 

"And  Miss  Lilian's!"  suggested  Eastman, 

"  She  hasn't  anything  t.o  do  with  it.  She  says  she  doesn't 
want  the  ring — is  glad  to  have  the  uncanny  thing  out  of 
her  sight.  You  wouldn't  think  there  could  be  such  differ 
ence  in  it,  would  you?"  he  asked,  turning  the  jewel 
around  on  his  finger.  Do  you  see  how  it  glows  and  flashes 
in  my  hand,  and  do  you  remember  how  dull  and  expres 
sionless  it  was  on  hers?" 

His  companion  did  remember,  and  wondered,  not 
stopping  to  infer,  as  Dr.  Farewell  perhaps  would,  that  it 
might  be  caused  by  a  difference  in  temperature. 

"  Her  father  gave  it  to  her,"  said  Eastman  musingly, 
"  or  at  least  arranged  for  it  to  be  bought  and  given  to  her 
by  another." 

"Who  was  that?" 

"  I  think  I  was  the  half-unconscious  instrument  of  good 
or  evil,  whichever  it  may  have  been,"  answered  Eastman 


"ALAS,    POOR    GHOST!"  299 

with  a  jocose  smile.  "  I  paid  for  the  setting  and  directed 
the  package,  at  least." 

"  Ah,  then  you  saw  it  before  it  was  set?  " 

"  Hardly.  The  ring  had  been  made.  Mr.  Kishu  took 
the  gem  from  his  pocket  and  it  was  fitted  to  its  place  in 
our  presence." 

"  You  did  not  see  the  under  side  of  it  then?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  did.  My  impression  is  that  it  was  black 
— black  and  shining." 

"Yes;  and  the  jeweler?" 

"  He  had  evidently  been  let  into  the  secret  before — or 
some  secret.  He  slipped  the  stone  into  place,  bent  down 
the  clasps,  soldered  it,  or  at  least  held  it  over  a  lamp; 
handed  it  back  to  me,  and  I  paid  for  the  mounting." 

"And  sent  it  to  Miss  Lilian?" 

"  I  addressed  the  parcel  to  her." 

Jonas  Underwood  had  listened  to  this  narrative  with 
breathless  attention. 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  he  got  it?  "  he  asked  at  length. 

"  Who — Mr.  Kishu?  You  don't  suppose  he — he — came 
by  it  dishonestly?  "  stammered  Eastman  as  he  gazed  into 
the  sick  man's  blazing  eyes. 

"  I  don't  know  what  to  think,''  interrupted  Underwood, 
panting  with  excitement. 

"  What  difference  does  it  make,  anyhow?  He  probably 
bought  it  over  a  counter  as  one  naturally  would." 

"  Then  we  must  know  what  counter.  There  are  not 
many  jewelers  who  could  handle  that  gem  and  not  know 
its  history,  not  in  this  country,  at  least." 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Eastman,  beginning  to 
realize  that  the  matter  was  something  more  than  a  sick 
man's  fancy. 

"  Twenty-three  years  ago  a  life  vanished,  a  child-life, 


300  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

and  about  the  child's  neck  was  a  bauble  containing  this 
gem.  It  had  been  a  charm  in  our  family  for  genera 
tions." 

"  It  is  strange  that  so  valuable  a  stone  should  be  on  the 
person  of  a  child." 

"  But  it  was  hidden;  only  a  jeweler's  skill  could  find  it. 
The  case  was  of  dull  and  benten  silver,  which  looked  like 
lead.  Indeed,  I  think  it  must  have  been  some  curious 
alloy,  for  it  never  was  bright." 

"  And  you  have  heard  nothing  of  it  since?  " 

"  Not  a  word  of  child  or  trinket.  Both  disappeared. 
It  was  as  if  the  earth  had  swallowed  them  up.  You  have 
no  idea  how  terrible  it  was.  Five,  ten  minutes — possibly 
a  quarter  of  an  hour — and  a  human  being  had  vanished. 
It  was  from  a  house  opening  on  a  quiet  street.  We  had 
just  moved  there,  then.  There  was  no  water  near,  noth 
ing  to  destroy.  The  child  was  one  of  marked  distinctive- 
ness,  and  had  about  her  neck  one  of  the  most  remarkable 
trinkets  in  the  land,  and  yet  not  one  to  attract  attention 
or  excite  cupidity.  I  alone  of  living  mortals  knew  its  value. 
A  street-gamin  would  hardly  have  picked  it  up  to  throw 
at  a  sparrow." 

"  And  you  could  get  no  trace?  " 

"  Not  a  hint.  It  was  as  if  God  had  taken  her  out  of 
the  world,  or  some  Ginevra  chest  had  closed  its  smother 
ing  lid  upon  her! " 

"  Of  course — you — you — advertised?  " 

Murvale  Eastman's  face  flushed  as  he  made  this  sug 
gestion.  He  felt  as  if  he  must  say  something  and  that 
was  all  he  could  think  of;  but  he  knew  it  was  almost  an 
insult  to  the  intelligence  and  paternal  love  of  the  man  to 
whom  he  spoke. 

"Advertise!"    Underwood  repeated.     "Our  whole  life 


"ALASt    POOR   <7//05  TV"  301 

since  has  been  one  long  search.  Advertisements,  re 
wards,  detectives — the  whole  machinery  by  which  civiliza 
tion  protects  itself  against  individuals — have  been  put  in 
operation  to  learn  the  child's  fate.  I  suppose  Hannah 
has  walked  more  than  a  thousand  miles  searching  for  that 
child,  not  because  we  loved  it  so  much  more  than  the 
others  perhaps,  but  because  it  was  lost.  Of  course,  after 
a  while  I  knew  the  child  would  never  be  found.  She  was 
either  dead  or  forever  lost.  An  infant  of  two  years  old 
is  easily  hidden.  Death  comes  at  a  touch,  or  time  blots 
out  memory.  But  a  jewel  is  indestructible.  It  repre 
sents  covetousness,  and  lives  forever.  It  cannot  be  hidden 
either;  for  every  person  through  whose  hands  a  notable 
gem  passes  knows  whence  it  came  and  whither  it  goes. 
So  I  pinned  my  hope  on  the  jewel.  Hannah  gave  up  the 
child,  so  far  at  least  as  a  mother  ever  gives  up  a  child  that 
she  does  not  know  to  be  dead ;  but  I  clung  to  the  hope 
that  the  jewel  would  lead  me  to  her  grave  or  the  throat 
of  her  murderer.  I  advertised,  first  the  trinket  and  then 
the  jewel,  but  never  the  two  together.  Every  year  I  have 
sent  a  description  of  the  stone  to  every  respectable  jew 
eler  in  United  States.  There  is  not  one  who  would  not 
have  recognized  it  as  quickly  as  the  Kohinoor." 

"  And  you  have  never  heard  of  it?  " 

"  Never  a  hint,  until  the  other  day,  spurred  by  a  restless 
anxiety  to  know  about  this  one,  I  got  a  pair  of  nippers — 
the  doctor  brought  them  to  me,  dentist's  tools  rather  than 
jeweler's,  but  they  served  my  purpose — I  wrenched  apart 
the  clips  so  that  I  could  get  this  out  and  look  at  the  under 
side  of  the  stone." 

"  And  you  found " 

"  There  can't  be  any  mistake,"  said  Underwood  sol 
emnly. 


302  MURl'ALE    EAST  MAX. 

"  And  you  think  the  child  was  stolen  for  the  sake  of  the 
jewel?" 

"  I  don't  know.  The  track  of  the  jewel  leads  back  to 
the  child,  or  more  probably  to  her  grave,  if  it  can  only  be 
followed.  If  I  were  young,  I  think  I  could  do  it;  but 
there's  no  use  of  talking  of  that  now.  My  son  might  have 
done  it,  perhaps,  though  it's  not  likely  that  he  would  have 
the  incentive.  Yet  I  can't  give  it  up.  Yon  are  the  last 
hope.  Will  you  try  ?  " 

Jonas  Underwood's  beseeching  words  would  have  im 
pelled  a  more  emotional  nature  to  ready  promise,  but 
Murvale  Eastman  was  not  accustomed  to  give  light  pledges 
or  abandon  easily  those  he  made.  So  he  inquired  cau 
tiously,  before  yielding  to  this  man's  importunity,  whose 
brain  might  be  half-crazed  by  his  long  sorrow  and  ab 
sorbed  dreaming: 

"  Why  should  one  value  the  trinket  if  it  was  as  dull  and 
unattractive  as  you  say?  " 

"  I  could  never  imagine  until  lately.  It  is  mentioned 
in  my  great-grandfather's  will." 

"As  a  jewel?" 

"  As  a  keepsake,  only.  It  seems  to  have  had  some  re 
ligious  signification,  and  had  been  in  the  family  for  ages. 
I  don't  suppose  anybody  had  known  its  value  for  genera 
tions.  I  happened  to  find  how  to  open  it  one  day — in 
tended  to  keep  the  gem  for  a  time  of  need,  and  thought 
the  leaden  trinket  was  as  good  a  place  to  hide  it  in  as 
any;  the  more,  as  it  had  held  it  so  long.  Just  then  the 
little  one  disappeared.  I  suppose  somebody  else  must 
have  found  how  to  open  the  case." 

"  What  was  the  shape  of  the  trinket?  " 

"  It  -was  about  two  inches  long  and  half  or  three-quar 
ters  an  inch  wide,  shaped  like  a  fish.  The  stone  was  on 


ALAS.   POOR    GHOST!" 


3°3 


the  inside,  and  showed  only  when  the  two  halves  were 
sprung  apart.  It  was  imbedded  in  a  dark,  hard  wax, 
which  I  melted  out  and  in  which  I  hid  it  again  after  I  had 
examined  it." 

"  Why  do  you  think  it  was  regarded  as  a  charm  or  am 
ulet?" 

"  My  ancestor  styles  it  an  '  ichthus,'  supposed  to  have 
been  of  Roman  origin,  and  to  possess  peculiar  healing 
virtues." 

"  And  how  do  you  know  this  gem  is  the  same  one?  " 

"  If  you  will  take  it  to  the  light  you  will  find  certain 
letters  on  the  under  side  yet  filled  with  the  black  wax 
which  is  almost  as  hard  as  the  stone." 

The  other  examined  the  gem  with  curious  interest. 

"  You  are  right."  he  said  at  length.  "  Christ,  the  Son 
of  God,  is  what  the  inscription  means.  It  is  not  proba 
ble  there  is  such  another  stone  in  the  country,  perhaps  in 
the  world.  It  may  date  back  to  the  Catacombs." 

"  What  did  you  say  the  letters  mean  ?  "  asked  Under 
wood,  earnestly. 

"  '  Christ,  the  Son  of  God.'  " 

"There  are  but  three?" 

"No,  but " 

"And  they  are  D  X  V?" 

"  Yes,  Latin  letters  were  frequently,  perhaps  generally, 
used  in  such  inscriptions  to  indicate  or  rather  to  hide 
Greek  words.  Taken  with  the  form  of  the  trinket,  the 
fish,  it  is  evident  this  was  intended  to  be  a  confession  of 
faith  which  might  avouch  the  bearer  to  other  believers 
while  not  betraying  him  to  their  enemies.  The  fish  itself 
was  a  hieroglyph,  meaning  the  same  thing  as  the  letters 
on  the  engraved  gem." 

"I  suppose  you  must  be  right,"  said  Underwood,  dubi 
ously. 


304  MURVALZ  EASTMAN. 

"  What  did  you  suppose  they  meant?  " 

"  I  thought no  matter." 

"  Well,  what  do  you  wish  me  to  do?  " 

"  I  want  you  to  trace  that  jewel  until  you  find  whose 
hand  took  it  off  our  baby's  neck,"  exclaimed  Underwood, 
excitedly. 

"And  then?" 

"  It  will  be  time  enough  to  answer  that  question  after 
ward." 

"  You  should  put  this  into  Metziger's  hands,''  said  the 
pastor,  rising  and  walking  back  and  forth  across  the  study. 
"  He  would  be  more  apt  to  succeed  in  it." 

"  I  suppose  he  would — but — don't  you  see,  it  might  in 
volve  Mr.  Kishu?" 

"Suppose  it  did,  what  then?" 

"  What  then !  "  repeated  the  other  warmly.  "  Why,  I 
wouldn't  harm  one  dear  to  you  for  all  the  world." 

"  But  you  know,  you  understand,  that  Miss  Kishu  is 
not — we  are  no  longer  engaged?" 

"  I  know  her  father  says  so,  and  people  believe  him ; 
but  I  don't.  I  can  see  as  far  into  a  millstone  as  the  man 
that  picks  it,  at  any  rate." 

"  But  T  assure  you,  Mr.  Underwood " 

"  There,  there — don't  assure  me  of  anything.  You  love 
her  just  as  well  as  ever,  and  don't  need  to  tell  me.  Now, 
what  I  want  to  find  out  first,  is  how  this  came  into  Mr. 
Kishu's  hands.  If  innocently,  why  didn't  I  hear  of  it 
from  the  jeweler  who  set  the  stone  in  this  ring?  If  not, 
which  I  am  afraid  is  the  case  from  the  care  taken  about 
the  setting,  why,  then,  of  course  I  don't  suppose  he  stole 
it  or  knows  anything  about  the  child,  but  he  must  have 
known  it  wasn't  his,  and  may  have  had  a  special  reason 
for  wanting  to  keep  it,  and  so  it  may  help  to  reconcile  him 


"ALAS,    POOR   GHOST!"  305 

to  your  marriage  with  the  daughter.  A  club  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  when  you're  dealing  with  a  stubborn  man, 
and  if  he  didn't  steal  this  gem  he  certainly  did  not  come 
by  it  quite  honestly.  See?  " 

"  But,  Mr.  Underwood,  I  cannot  do  this,  indeed,  I  can 
not,  unless  you  permit  me  to  consult  Metziger." 

"  Oh,  do  what  you  have  a  mind  to,"  he  responded 
wearily,  "only  don't  let  go  the  thread;  and  remember  I 
don't  want  to  hear  anything  about  it.  I  don't  want  to 
think  ill  of  the  man,  nor  have  to  recall,  when  Lilian  is 
your  wife,  that  I  did  anything  to  make  her  heart  ache.  I 
believe  I  am  almost  as  much  in  love  with  her  as  you  are, 
though  Hannah  likes  Mrs.  Merton  best.  That's  natural 
enough.  The  one  is  always  trying  to  do  something  for 
somebody's  happiness,  while  the  other  seems  to  think  she 
does  enough  by  just  being  pretty  and  talking  sweetly — like 
a  bird  as  she  is.  It  rests  and  heals  me  just  to  look  at  her." 

"  But  Mr.  Underwood — you  must  understand " 

"Hush!  there  they  come/' 

The  door  opened  and  Mrs.  Underwood,  Lilian,  and  Mrs. 
Merton  entered. 

"  Clara  was  tired,  so  we  left  her  at  home  and  brought 
Miss  Lilian  instead,"  said  Mrs.  Merton. 

She  addressed  her  words  to  Mr.  Underwood  but  looked 
at  Eastman.  Both  tone  and  glance  were  significant,  and 
her  cheeks  were  aflame  as  she  spoke.  It  was  evident  that 
she  had  purposely  brought  the  lovers,  whom  she  regarded 
as  wrongfully  estranged,  together  for  their  especial  de 
light. 

Murvale  Eastman  had  put  the  ring  hastily  in  his  pocket, 

and  greeted  the  ladies  not  without  embarrassment.    Lilian 

seated  herself  beside  Underwood's  couch,  and  her  pretty 

prattle  soon  brought  smiles  to  the  sick  man's  lips,  though 

20 


306  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

the  look  with  which  he  regarded  her  was  not  without  a 
trace  of  apprehension.  "  Shall  we  not  have  some  music?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Underwood,  after  a  while,  glancing  meaningly 
at  Mrs.  Merton.  "Jonas  is  very  fond  of  the  organ,  and 
especially  of  your  playing,  Miss  Lilian." 

The  whole  by-play  was  one  of  those  feminine  farces 
evidently  planned  by  two  of  the  participants  and  quietly 
submitted  to  by  the  third.  Its  significance  flashed  on 
Underwood  in  an  instant,  but  if  Murvale  Eastman  pene 
trated  the  little  plot  he  gave  no  evidence  of  the  fact. 

"  But  one  cannot  play  the  organ  alone,"  said  Lilian  with 
suspicious  demureness. 

"  I  think  Mr.  Eastman  waited  here  on  purpose  to  assist 
you.  Perhaps  he  knew  you  were  coming,"  said  Under 
wood  playfully,  with  a  shrug  of  his  great  shoulders,  and 
a  flash  of  his  dark  eyes  upon  the  minister. 

Lilian  looked  up  at  him,  too,  expectantly,  half-appeal- 
ingly. 

"  If  Miss  Kishu  will  permit  me,"  he  said  cheerfully. 

Alas,  there  was  no  hidden  meaning  in  his  tones,  no 
throb  of  rapture  at  the  privilege  of  being  alone  with  her, 
none  of  that  fervid  tenderness  which  had  permeated  every 
syllable  when  she  had  last  heard  him  speak  in  that  room, 
when  he  said  to  the  then  almost  silent  man  upon  the 
couch,  proudly,  humbly,  exultingly,  "She  is  to  be  my 
wife!" 

Lilian  felt  a  shiver  as  she  rose  and  followed  him  to  the 
organ  loft. 

The  concert  was  not  a  long  one.  Lilian  soon  tired  of 
playing  and  called  Eastman  to  her  side.  He  came  and 
sat  down  on  a  chair  a  little  way  off.  He  did  not  seem  to 
seek  nor  yet  to  avoid  her.  His  manner  was  friendly,  ap 
preciative,  pleasant — that  was  all. 


"ALAS,    POOR    GHOST!"  307 

rc  Murvale,"  she  said  at  length,  in  a  pleading  tone,  "  you 
don't  know  how  miserable  I  am." 

"  I  am  very  sorry,"  he  answered  with  honest  but  un 
emotional  concern.  "  What  is  the  matter?  " 

"  How  can  you  ask  that?  "  looking  up  at  him  under  her 
brows.  "  Oh,  everything — everything!"  she  added,  clasp 
ing  her  fingers  together  and  pulling  them  away  from  each 
other  with  that  queer  feminine  gesture  which  seems  like 
tearing  cloth,  as  if  it  were  an  unconscious  inheritance  of 
ages  of  attendance  on  the  looms. 

"  I  am — very  sorry — I  assure  you." 

"  No,  you  are  not !  "  There  were  signs  of  tears  now. 
Lilian  Kishu  was  bound  to  win  back  her  lover.  She  was 
not  quite  sure  she  wanted  him,  but  she  did  want  to  sub 
due  him,  recapture  him,  have  him  at  her  apron-string 
once  more.  "  No,  you  are  not  sorry,  else  you  would  do 
something — something  to — to  conciliate!  " 

"  Conciliate!     Whom  should  I  conciliate?  " 

"  Why,  papa,  of  course.  He  only  needs  to  be  concili 
ated,  asked,  invited,  urged  a  little — that  is  all.  He'd  be 
back  here  in  the  Golden  Lilies  at  once  if  you  would  ask 
him." 

"  But  you  forget,  Miss  Lilian,  that  he  has  published  that 
about  me  which  no  honorable  man  forgets  until  it  is  re 
tracted." 

"But  you  know  he  will  never  retract — never!  You 
have  no  idea — how — how  immovable  he  is.  I  think  he 
would  die  before  he  would  admit  himself  to  be  in  the 
wrong ;  I  do  really." 

"  I  am  very  sorry."  This  was  all  he  seemed  able  to 
say. 

"Couldn't  you  tell  him  that — that  you  would  forgive 
him?" 


30$  ML'RrAT.F.    FAST  MAX. 

"  I  have  long  since  forgiven  him." 

"  But  I  mean — couldn't  you "  she  was  rolling  her 

handkerchief  and  gloves  into  an  indistinguishable  ball — 
"  couldn't  you  just — just  ask  him — to — to  let  things  be  as 
they  were  before?  " 

She  did  not  look  up. 

"  I  have  forgiven  your  father  whatever  injustice  he  may 
have  done  me.  That  was  my  duty,  and  I  did  not  find  it 
hard ;  but  I  cannot  ask  him  to  permit  me  to  forget  it,  to 
pass  it  by  without  apology  or  retraction  on  his  part.  I 
should  not  be  a  man  if  I  did  that — not  worthy  of  any 
one's  respect." 

"  Not — "  she  stole  a  shy  glance  at  his  face  and  let  her 
eyes  drop  quickly  to  her  lap — "  not  even  for — for — my 
sake,  Murvale?  " 

Then  she  looked  longingly  up  at  him.  What  did  she 
mean?  His  heart  beat  furiously  for  an  instant.  Then 
his  lips  closed  as  if  they  shut  down  on  some  errant  fancy, 
and  he  answered  tenderly,  but  firmly : 

"  Not  even  for  your  sake,  Miss  Kishu." 

"Miss  Kishu!"  Lilian  had  played  her  last  card,  and 
lost.  She  knew  it;  yet  she  had  never  come  so  near  lov 
ing  Murvale  Eastman  with  heart  and  soul  as  at  that  mo 
ment. 

"Would  we  not  better  return?"  she  asked. 

Without  another  word  he  led  the  way,  and  she  followed, 
sick  at  heart. 


POACHING  ON  THE  DEVILS  PRESERVES.      309 


CHAPTER   XXVII. 

POACHING    ON    THE   DEVIL'S    PRESERVES. 

Two  things  went  on  together  at  the  Church  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  in  the  weeks  that  followed,  with  a  harmony 
that  surprised  some  and  irritated  others,  the  religious 
awakening  and  the  organization  of  a  League  of  Christian 
Socialists.  That  a  genuine  religious  awakening  should 
co-exist  with  a  deliberate  and  avowed  attempt  to  establish 
an  organization  for  socialistic  reform,  seemed  to  very 
many  altogether  inscrutable,  and  there  were  not  lacking 
those  who  denounced  both  as  unquestionably  the  work  of 
the  devil.  Who  had  ever  before  heard  of  a  church  ally 
ing  itself  with  Socialism?  It  was  only  another  name  for 
vice,  immorality,  murder,  anarchy  and  all  sorts  of  crime, 
some  said;  while  others  declared  that  "a  league  of  devils 
and  saints  might  just  as  well  be  called  Christian,  as  a 
league  of  Socialists." 

Many  of  those  who  said  these  things  were  good  people ; 
some  of  them  were  ministers,  and  nearly  all  were  relig 
ious,  or  at  least,  "  favorably  disposed  toward  religion,  and 
liberal  patrons  of  the  church  and  church  enterprises." 
There  were  men  and  women  who  had  made  immense 
fortunes  out  of  stock-gambling,  out  of  false  reports,  out 
of  "cornered"  markets,  out  of  necessities  of  the  poor,  out 
of  dangerous  mines  and  dependent  miners;  out  of  grog 
shops  and  over-crowded  tenements,  and  other  even  more 
questionable  methods,  who  could  not  find  words  harsh 


310  MURTALE  EASTMAX. 

enough  to  express  their  horror  at  the  sacrilegious  union  of 
those  two  ideas,  Christianity  and  Socialism.  The  thought 
that  Christianity  should  lower  its  ecstatic  gaze  from  the 
gates  of  the  New  Jerusalem,  to  consider  the  condition  of 
those  who  were  striving  to  get  there,  and  endeavor  to  make 
the  cities  of  earth  more  conducive  to  the  welfare  of  the 
Pilgrims  who  were  striving  to  reach  the  better  land,  was  a 
thing  of  inexpressible  horror  to  some.  What  would  be 
come  of  business  and  governments,  men  asked  trium 
phantly,  if  Christian  principles  were  to  be  applied  literally 
to  trade  and  politics?  Religion  was  important  in  its 
place,  but  was  never  intended  to  apply  to  commerce 
and  government. 

This  view  seemed  to  be  the  predominant  one  "on 
'Change,'1  in  the  press,  and  generally  among  what  are 
termed  "successful"  men.  And  indeed  it  is  not  without 
force,  if  mere  accumulation  is  the  true  measure  of  pros 
perity  and  the  chief  end  of  man;  but  it  is  a  most  degrad 
ing  admission  for  a  Christian  to  make,  that  the  Son  of 
God  was  sent  into  the  world  to  introduce  a  religion  so  de 
fective  in  its  regulation  of  human  conduct,  that  the  two 
greatest  spheres  of  human  activity  have  to  be  exempted 
from  its  operation ;  and  that  in  order  to  be  successful  and 
become  able  to  do  good  in  the  world,  a  man  must  first  be 
given  a  considerable  leeway  in  doing  wrong.  Luther  at 
tacked  the  sale  of  indulgences,  but  it  is  hard  to  see  how 
a  special  license  to  do  a  particular  evil,  sold  for  cash, 
could  be  more  demoralizing  than  a  plenary  one  given  away 
for  nothing  more  than  a  vague  hope  of  charitable  bequests 
upon  a  death-bed. 

Yet,  strangely  enough,  they  were  not  bad  men  and 
women,  not  those  who  desired  license  and  anarchy  and 
hated  law  and  righteousness,  who  crowded  the  aisles  of 


POACHING  aV  THE  DF.J'fL'S  PPESERTES.      311 

the  Golden  Lilies,  either  as  Christian  worshipers  or  as 
seekers  for  light  in  regard  to  the  new  and  strange  idea  of 
Christian  Socialism. 

As  to  the  religious  awakening,  it  aroused  not  a  little 
curiosity  with  some  and  something  of  disgust  with  others. 
The  promoter  of  intermittent  energy  in  all  phases  of  col 
lective  action  and  regarding  all  matters  of  public  interest, 
is  a  peculiar  American  development.  In  business,  we  call 
him  a  "  boomer ;"  in  politics,  a  "  spell-binder ;  "  and  in  the 
church,  a  "revivalist."  There  are  other  names  for  each 
of  these  classes,  but  these  will  serve  as  types.  The  relig 
ious  "boomer,"  is  sometimes  an  evangelist;  sometimes  a  \ 
"  boy-preacher;  "  sometimes  a  man  who  is  supposed  to  be 
especially  good  because  he  has  aforetime  been  especially 
bad ;  sometimes  one  who  makes  statements  in  the  pulpit 
that  no  sane  man  would  make  out  of  it ;  sometimes  a  man 
who  uses  language  in  public  which  no  gentleman  would 
use  in  private ;  and  sometimes  a  man  who  is  supposed  to 
know  a  great  deal  about  God's  will  and  purpose,  because 
he  evidently  knows  little  of  anything  else.  The  especial 
function  of  all  such  is  to  manufacture  or  excite  religious 
energy.  They  are  the  dynamos  which  awaken  latent 
emotional  fervor.  They  are  not  peculiar  to  Christianity. 
Other  religions  have  them  under  various  names.  They 
are  entirely  legitimate  forces,  more  valuable  in  some  peri 
ods  of  the  world's  life  than  at  others ;  apt  to  be  too  much 
relied  on  by  those  who  think  God  manifests  himself  only 
in  miracle  rather  than  by  law,  and  naturally  inclined'  to 
esteem  themselves  approved  and  necessary  conduits  of 
grace,  if  not  essential  elements  of  the  plan  of  salvation. 

Very  many  thought  the  religious  awakening  in  the 
Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  unnatural  and  anomalous  be 
cause  it  lacked  apparent  cause.  The  young  pastor  did 


J/  L  7?  VA  LE   EA  S  TMA . 1 r. 

not  seem  to  have  made  or  to  be  making  any  "special 
effort."  The  religious  exercises  of  the  church  continued 
as  they  had  always  been,  neither  more  nor  less  frequent 
and  with  hardly  a  change  in  their  character.  There  were 
still  the  weekly  lecture  and  prayer-meeting,  and  one  even 
ing  in  each  week,  the  lecture-room  was  crowded  with 
people  interested  in  Christian  Socialism.  That  was  all; 
yet  the  results  were  astounding.  The  number  of  men,  es 
pecially  of  young,  intelligent  men,  who  sought  admission 
to  the  church,  was  unprecedented  in  the  history  of  any 
body  of  believers  in  the  city.  The  prayer-meetings 
abounded  in  simple,  tender,  artless  expressions  of  faith  in 
God  and  love  to  man.  Indeed,  it  seemed  almost  as  if 
love  for  man — the  desire  to  do  the  Christ-will  and  emu 
late  the  Christ-example — had  become  the  dominant  in 
fluence  in  this  unexpected  revival  of  religious  interest. 
People  c£,me,  and  wondered  why  they  came;  believed  and 
wondered  why  they  had  disbelieved — perhaps  whether 
they  had  disbelieved  at  all. 

Many  of  the  pastor's  ministerial  brethren  watched  the 
quiet,  unpretentious  work  in  amazement.  Some  offered 
assistance;  some  counseled  a  special  effort  to  extend  the 
interest  to  all  the  churches;  several  revivalists  of  well- 
attested  fame  offered  their  services,  some  in  person  and 
some  by  letter,  accompanied  by  glowing  certificates  of 
success.  To  all  these  kindly  offers  the  pastor  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  made  one  invariable  reply.  It  was  the 
Lord's  work,  he  said,  begun  in  the  Lord's  way,  carried 
on  by  agents  of  his  selection,  and  in  a  manner  which  the 
Master  seemed  to  have  especially  designated.  He  did 
not  himself  pretend  to  understand  its  cause  or  character. 
The  church  and  congregation  seemed  to  be  working  in 
singular  harmony.  The  meetings  were  theirs;  he  himself 


POA  CHING  ON  THE  DE  VIJJ  S  PRESER  VES.      3 1 3 

only  acting  as  their  servant.  The  awakening  had  begun 
without  conscious  design  on  his  part;  and  he  could  not 
assume  to  direct  its  course  or  prescribe  its  limits.  When 
ever  the  church  and  congregation  should  desire  a  change 
of  plan,  it  would  be  for  them  to  indicate  such  wish,  and 
then  to  prayerfully  consider  its  character.  So  far  as  he 
was  concerned,  he  felt  inclined  to  stand  humbly  by  and 
let  the  work  go  on  as  God  willed. 

From  this  position  he  could  not  be  moved.  He  asked 
no  advice,  solicited  no  aid,  assumed  no  control,  claimed 
no  credit,  and  rejected  no  co-operation.  The  one  thing 
he  insisted  upon  was  that  this  healthful,  undemonstrative 
work  should  not  be  interfered  with.  Some  of  his  minis 
terial  brethren  blamed  him;  some  commended  him. 
Neither  praise  nor  censure  seemed  to  disturb  him.  His 
nature  was  one  to  which  decision  is  not  difficult;  and  it 
was  easy  for  him  to  abide  by  a  decision  once  made.  Hav 
ing  determined  upon  the  character  of  the  subjects  he 
would  discuss  upon  the  Sabbaths  during  the  year,  he  did 
not  vary  from  the  plan  he  had  announced  because  of  this 
unusual  religious  interest.  There  was  only  a  tenderer  note 
in  his  prayers ;  more  fervent  expressions  of  gratitude,  per 
haps,  but  he  still  confined  his  discourses  to  the  various 
phases  of  man's  duty  to  man;  and  still  the  number  in 
creased  of  them  that  believed. 

Step  by  step,  with  this  religious  awakening,  had  pro 
ceeded  the  organization  of  the  Christian  Socialists.  They 
had  moved  slowly.  Nothing  had  been  done  in  haste  or 
at  a  venture.  There  had  been  many  meetings  of  the  joint 
committee  on  organization,  and  weekly  reports  to  the 
public  meetings  held  in  the  lecture-room.  Murvale  East 
man  had  presided  at  both,  saying  little ;  taking  small  part 
in  the  discussions ;  only  counseling  patience,  deliberation, 


314  ML'RVALE  EAST  MAX. 

charity,  and  advising  always  that  they  should  seek  less  to 
do  all  the  good  that  needed  to  be  done,  than  to  be  sure 
to  avoid  doing  harm ;  cautioning  them  that  the  evil  growths 
of  centuries  cannot  be  peacefully  or  entirely  remedied  in 
a  day,  but  that  each  life  may  do  something  toward  effect 
ing  the  infinite  uplifting  all  desired. 

All  propositions  relating  to  name,  purpose,  plan  of  or 
ganization  of  the  proposed  association  were  openly  and 
freely  discussed  at  these  meetings.  All  sorts  of  people 
attended  and  took  part  in  them.  Only  one  restriction 
was  put  upon  the  expression  of  opinion — the  speaker 
must  be  heedful  of  the  feelings  of  other.  Strangers  of  all 
creeds  and  no  creeds;  ministers  of  all  denominations, 
publicists  and  thinkers  of  all  parties,  and  crowds  which 
even  the  spacious  lecture-room  of  the  Golden  Lilies  was 
insufficient  to  accommodate,  gathered  to  listen  and  take 
.part  in  the  consideration  of  the  questions  involved.  Rec 
ognizing  the  gravity  of  the  movement  proposed,  the  joint 
committee  presented  the  matters  to  be  determined,  in 
orderly  succession,  and  asked  their  free  and  calm  consider 
ation.  The  order  of  procedure  was  as  simple  as  the  town- 
meeting  on  which  the  American  Republic  is  based — a 
hymn,  a  prayer,  the  minutes  of  the  previous  meeting,  then 
the  discussion.  A  member  of  the  joint  committee  stated 
the  questions  they  had  considered,  read  the  recommenda 
tion  of  the  committee,  giving  the  reasons  for  their  action, 
and  then  five-minute  speeches  were  in  order  upon  this 
subject  and  no  other.  These  speeches  were  always  ready. 
Men  who  had  studied  the  great  questions  of  to-day's 
social  dynamics  in  the  library  were  amazed  to  find  how 
full  the  common  people  were  of  thought  and  suggestion  in 
regard  to  them.  The  advocates  of  universal  remedies  for 
the  multifarious  ills  of  humanity  were  disgusted  with  these 


POA  CHING  ON  THE  DE  VIL'S  PRESER  VES.      315 

restrictions,  which  gave  no  opportunity  for  unfolding  their 
own  pet  notions,  but  the  congregation  of  the  Golden 
Lilies  did  not  seem  to  be  hungry  for  theories.  They  were 
too  much  in  earnest  to  pay  much  heed  to  delusive  specu 
lation  as  to  what  might  have  been. 

It  was  soon  evident  that  the  intelligent  masses  were  al 
ready  convinced  of  two  things :  first,  that  the  conditions 
of  civilized  society  are  capable  of  amendment;  and 
second  that  they  ought  to  be  amended  through  the  en 
largement  of  the  acknowledged  sphere  of  Christian  ef 
fort.  And  because  of  this  belief,  they  were  not  to  be 
balked  of  a  resolute  endeavor  to  do  something  to  effect 
this  result.  The  question  they  wished  to  consider  was, 
What  could  they  do? 

Of  course,  the  first  thing  to  be  determined  was  whether  a 
special  organization  was  necessary  and  desirable.  Strange 
as  it  may  seem,  it  was  contended,  with  not  a  little  earnest 
ness,  that  there  was  no  need  for  anything  of  this  sort ; 
that  such  an  organization  would  be  perilous  to  the  Church 
and  useless,  if  not  dangerous,  to  society.  Professional 
politicians  opposed  it,  insisting  that  the  State  was  enough ; 
the  representatives  of  accumulated  power  insisted  that  all 
progress  was  due  to  the  fact  that  every  man  was  entitled 
to  get  the  better  of  just  as  many  of  his  fellows  as  he  was 
able,  and  bind  them  to  his  service  with  the  chains  of  ne 
cessity;  profound  political  economists  declared  that  un 
restricted  competition,  in  doing  evil  as  well  as  in  doing 
good,  was  absolutely  necessary  to  the  stability  of  civiliza 
tion;  while  others  claimed  with  the  utmost  vehemence 
that  the  only  way  to  improve  present  conditions  was  to 
let  them  alone. 

It  took  several  meetings  to  determine  these  matters, 
and  some  startling  facts  were  brought  out  in  the  discus- 


316  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

sion,  showing  how  far  behind  the  thought  of  the  common 
people  were  the  lucubrations  of  the  politicians  and  scien 
tists  who  studied  existing  conditions  at  long  range  through 
books  and  theories,  and  with  the  idea  that  all  knowledge 
must  be  sought  for  in  the  past. 

Then  came  the  question  of  the  relation  which  such 
an  organization  should  sustain  to  the  Church.  It  was 
upon  this  that  the  hardest  battle  was  fought,  there  be 
ing  two  classes  of  opponents:  those  who  had  no  faith  in 
the  supernal  elements  of  Christian  doctrine,  and  those 
who  could  believe  in  nothing  else.  The  former  protested 
against  being  required  to  admit  the  divine  origin  of  the 
sublime  rules  of  human  duty  which  fell  from  the  Master's 
lips,  while  the  latter  stoutly  insisted  that  no  organization 
should  be  allowed  to  bear  the  name  "  Christian,"  unless 
its  declared  purpose  was  the  salvation  of  souls,  and  a  be 
lief  in  the  miraculous  origin  of  the  Master  was  made  an 
essential  prerequisite  of  membership.  It  was  a  curious 
thing  to  hear  men  arguing  in  Christ's  name  against  an 
organization  intended  to  carry  into  effect  Christ's  teach 
ings.  The  Church  was  enough,  they  said;  only  the 
Church  had  the  right  to  use  the  Master's  name;  and  the 
Church  was  intended  to  save  souls,  not  to  regulate  human 
conditions. 

It  was  when  this  controversy  seemed  likely  to  grow  too 
warm,  that  Murvale  Eastman,  in  adjourning  one  of  these 
meetings,  stated  some  questions  which  he  desired  the 
next  meeting  to  consider.  These  questions  created  a 
profound  excitement.  They  were : 

1.  Whether  the  Church  as  at  present  organized  and  di 
rected,  did  or  could  cover  the  whole  ground  of  Christian 
work  or  influence. 

2.  Whether  a  man  might  not,  so  far  as  any  creed  or 


POACHING  O.V  THE  DEVIL'S  PRESERVES.      317 

confession  of  faith  is  concerned,  become  a  member  of  any 
church  without  formally  declaring  his  acceptance  of 
Christ's  rule  for  human  conduct,  "  Do  unto  others  as  you 
would  that  they  should  do  to  you  "? 

3.  Whether,  supposing  the  world  were  to  continue  even 
a  thousand  years  longer,  more  souls  would  not  be  brought 
to  accept  Christ  as  their  Redeemer  by  the  application  of 
this  rule  to  all  public  and  personal  relations  than  by  any 
other  means ;  in  other  words,  whether  the  betterment  of 
human  conditions  was  not  only  the  highest  duty  of  the 
believer,  but  the  most  efficient  method  of  promoting  the 
redemption  of  mankind? 

4.  Whether  the  Church  has  any  right  to  refuse  the  sanc 
tion  of  Christ's  name,  or  to  decline  to  co-operate  with  any 
organization  which  actually  and  earnestly  desires  to  carry 
into  effect  Christ's  teachings  and  persuade  men  to  adopt 
them  "as  the  rules  of  human  conduct? 

As  for  himself,  he  did  not  hesitate  to  say  that  he  thought 
the  ethical  phase  of  Christianity  was  daily  becoming  more 
important,  and  its  supernal  phases  less  needful  to  be  ur 
gently  considered ;  both  because  the  elaboration  and  illus 
tration  of  the  former  would  lead  to  the  acceptance  of  the 
latter,  and  also  because  he  thought  the  skepticism  and  un 
belief  of  to-day  depended  mainly  for  their  force  upon  the 
fact  that  Christian  ethics  were  accounted  of  so  little  mo 
ment  and  of  so  restricted  application  by  Christian  be 
lievers. 

Some  months  passed  before  these  questions  had  been 
fully  decided  by  the  congregation,  whose  interest  in  them 
seemed  in  the  mean  time  to  grow  rather  than  to  diminish. 
Then  the  League  of  Christian  Socialists  was  formed,  its 
declaration  of  purpose  and  belief  completed,  and  Murvale 
Eastman  accepted  its  permanent  presidency.  The  organi- 


318  MURVALE  EASTMAK. 

zation  was  simple ;  its  declaration  of  principles  brief.  It 
simply  asserted  : 

"  I.  That  the  true  function  of  Christian  civilization  is  to 
equalize  conditions  and  promote  the  general  welfare  of 
mankind. 

"  II.  That  'Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens,'  is  a  princi 
ple  applying  to  collective  as  well  as  individual  relations. 

"  III.  That '  My  yoke  is  easy  and  my  burden  light,'  was 
meant  to  be  the  key-note  of  Christian  civilization,  which 
should  have  as  its  chief  object  the  improvement  of  indi 
vidual  and  collective  conditions. 

"IV.  That  the  burdens  of  society,  so  far  as  practicable, 
should  be  principally  borne  by  the  strong,  in  order  that 
the  weak  may  be  strengthened  and  prevented  from  growing 
weaker. 

"V.  That  to  prevent  pauperization,  so  far  as  possible,  is 
the  surest  method  of  reducing  crime,  and  the  restriction 
of  degrading  influences  the  surest  method  of  curing  vice ; 
while  the  relief  of  want  and  the  punishment  of  crime  are 
necessary  but  subordinate  agencies. 

"  VI.  That  the  duty  of  promoting  the  personal  welfare  of 
others  devolves  on  every  one  these  obligations:  (i)  That 
he  shall  individually,  do  as  much  good  and  as  little  harm 
as  may  be;  (2)  That  he  shall,  so  far  as  he  may,  promote 
voluntary  organized  effort  to  prevent  pauperization  and 
weaken  the  tendency  to  crime ;  (3)  That  the  power  of  the 
citizen  in  a  Republic,  like  that  of  the  king  in  a  monarchy, 
can  properly  be  used  only  to  promote  the  amelioration  of 
general  conditions,  and  that  this  can  be  done  only  by  en 
larging  and  securing  the  opportunity  of  the  many  and  limit 
ing  and  restricting  the  power  of  the  few. 

"VII.  That  the  motto  of  this  League  shall  be,  'Ben 
eficent  ends  by  lawful  means.' 


POACHING  0A"  THE  DEVIL'S  PRESERVES.      319 

"  VIII.  That,  believing  the  positive  purpose  to  '  do  unto 
others  as  you  would  that  they  should  do  to  you,'  is  a  far 
more  efficient  force  in  the  improvement  of  human  condi 
tions  than  any  restraining  power,  this  League  will  seek  to 
promote  its  objects  (i)  By  endeavoring  to  shape  and  di 
rect  public  sentiment;  (2)  By  seeking  to  obtain  desirable 
legislation;  (3)  By  securing  the  enforcement  of  just  laws 
and  the  modification  or  repeal  of  bad  ones. 

"  IX.  Believing  that  the  hearty  co-operation  of  all  those 
in  our  country,  who  believe  or  profess  to  believe  these  prin 
ciples,  is  easily  able  to  secure,  in  a  decade,  a  betterment 
of  general  conditions  which  has  never  before  been 
matched  in  a  century,  we  cordially  invite  the  co-operation 
of  all  in  the  study  of  the  causes  of  present  conditions  and 
the  elucidation  of  means  by  which  such  results  may  be 
effected;' 

The  mechanism  of  the  League  was  equally  simple.  It 
was  divided  into  three  Sections,  each  under  control  of  a 
Managing  Committee,  one  member  of  which  was  a  mem 
ber  of  a  Supervising  Committee,  of  which  the  President 
was  ex  officio  chairman. 

The  work  of  the  First  Section  was  to  consider  to  what 
extent  they  might  prevent  the  impoverization  of  members 
of  the  League  and  of  the  congregation  of  the  Church  of 
the  Golden  Lilies,  This  was  not  intended  to  supersede 
organizations  for  charitable  relief,  but  to  consider  how  the 
prospects  of  deserving  parties  of  narrow  means  might  be 
promoted,  or  those  in  danger  of  falling  into  dependence, 
saved  from  disaster  and  the  loss  of  self-respect — an  or 
ganized  application  of  the  principle,  "  Bear  ye  one  an 
other's  burdens." 

The  Second  Section  was  devoted  to  the  consideration 
of  methods  by  which  local  public  opinion  or  business 


320  MURVALE  EASTMAK. 

methods  in  the  city  and  State  might  be  modified  for  the 
benefit  of  the  weak  without  detriment  to  the  just  rights  of 
the  strong ;  it  was  especially  charged  with  the  harmoniza 
tion  of  the  rights  and  interests  of  employers  and  employed 
and  the  investigation  and  exposure  of  enfeebling  and  de 
grading  business  customs  and  conditions. 

The  Third  Section  had  in  charge  the  investigation  and 
discussion  of  legal  and  legislative  methods  by  which  the 
weak  might  be  protected,  the  feeble  encouraged  to  grow 
strong,  and  the  strong  restrained  from  oppressing  the 
weak. 

The  Managing  Committee  of  the  Third  Section 
constituted  a  joint-committee  on  membership,  with  author 
ity  to  appoint  sub-committees.  Every  person  desiring 
to  become  a  member  was  required  to  give  age,  occupa 
tion,  address,  and  to  state  what  sum  he  was  willing  to 
give  monthly  to  promote  the  objects  of  the  League. 


"  Well,"  said  Metziger,  turning  back  with  some  others 
into  the  study  after  the  dispersion  of  the  meeting  at  which 
the  organization  was  finally  completed,  and  speaking  to 
Murvale  Eastman,  "  What  do  you  think  of  it,  as  far  as  we 
have  gone?  ". 

"  I  cannot  see  that  it  can  do  any  harm,  and  it  may  do 
much  good.  It  largely  depends  on  whether  God's  time  has 
fully  come  for  the  extension  of  Christian  principles  to  col 
lective  as  well  as  individual  relations.  If  it  has  we  shall 
find  the  world  ripe  for  some  such  movement,  and  if  we  are 
wise  enough  to  search  out  God's  methods  we  shall  be  able 
to  accomplish  much  good." 

"What  effect  will  it  have  on  ourselves,  do  you  think?" 
asked  in  an  anxious  tone  the  young  man  who  had  first 


POACHING  aV  THE  DEVIL S  PRESERVES.      321 

moved  that  the  congregation  of  the  Golden  Lilies  should 
consider  the  proposal  of  Mr.  Metziger. 

"  I  suppose  about  the  first  result,  Mr.  Weldon,  will  be 
your  discharge  from  your  present  position." 

"  Probably,11  said  the  young  man,  cheerfully,  though 
there  was  a  shade  of  anxiety  in  his  voice.  "  But  I  was 
not  thinking  of  myself ;  I  can  get  along :  I  was  thinking 
of  Mr.  Eastman.1' 

"  Don't  be  troubled  about  me,"  said  Eastman,  smiling. 
"  You  know  the  Belt  and  Cross-Cut  have  promised  me  a 
place  whenever  I  need  it." 

"  It's  ready  for  you,"  said  the  president  of  that  company, 
his  round  face  aglow  with  enthusiasm,  which  showed 
through  the  scanty  hair  so  carefully  combed  across  his 
crown.  "  But  we'll  never  get  you,  sir.  If  they  get  tired 
of  you  in  the  Golden  Lilies,  we'll  start  an  independent 
church  and  run  it  on  our  own  hook." 

<:  No,"  rejoined  the  young  pastor  with  decision,  "  I  will 
never  be  the  cause  of  schism  or  controversy  in  the  church. 
If  I  am  thrust  out  of  my  place  as  the  pastor  of  this 
church,  I  will  take  up  whatever  work  God  calls  me  to,  but 
I  will  not  exercise  the  functions  of  a  Christian  minister, 
disowned  and  discredited  by  my  brethren." 

"  Others  have  done  so,"  said  Metziger,  not  exactly 
pleased,  as  it  seemed. 

"  So  might  I  under  other  circumstances,"  answered 
Eastman,  "  but  I  have  no  theological  controversy  with  my 
brethren,  nor  any  accusations  to  formulate  against  them. 
I  can  only  say  I  feel  called  to  undertake  this  work ;  I  can 
not  arraign  them  for  not  acting  with  me." 

"  And  if  you  are  disciplined?  " 

"  I  will  quit  the  work  of  the  ministry." 

"  All  right,"  said  the  lawyer,  grasping  his  hand.     "  We 

21 


MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

shall  need  you  in  the  League,  and  will  give  you  work 
enough  to  do." 

"  That  shall  be  as  God  wills,"  answered  the  minister, 
solemnly. 

"  I  think  you  are  right,"  said  Underwood,  looking  up 
from  his  couch,  "but  I  fear  you  will  have  a  good  deal  to 
bear." 

"  I  shall  hope  to  bear  it  like  a  man." 

The  little  company  parted,  Metziger  calling  out  to 
Weldon  : 

"  Let  me  know  when  the  axe  falls,  and  I  will  find  a 
place  for  you.  I  suppose  we  shall  want  you  for  our  gen 
eral  secretary  even  before  you  are  free  to  come." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII. 

TAKING    NOTE    OF    TIME. 

HALF  a  hundred  clocks  were  striking  the  hour  of  nine 
when  Mr.  Kishu  entered  his  office  the  next  morning. 
The  continuing  imperfect  is  used  advisedly  in  this  case. 
Mr.  Kishu  had  a  weakness  for  clocks,  and  his  office  was 
lined  with  all  sorts  of  horological  mechanisms  with  all  kinds 
of  striking  devices ;  and  this  array  of  mechanical  watch 
men  on  the  shores  of  time  were  so  tricked  and  tampered 
with  that  no  two  of  them  exactly  agreed  as  to  the  message 
they  had  to  deliver;  so  that  the  telling  of  the  hour  was 
always  a  continuous  fact  in  his  office,  beginning  with  the 
well-imitated  barking  of  a  distant  fox,  taken  up  by  the 
ordinary  wheezing  cuckoo  contrivance,  and  carried  on  for 
a  good  quarter  of  an  hour  by  successive  striking  enormi- 


TAK'r.VG  .VOTE   OF   TIME.  323 

ties,  each  one  serving  to  intensify  the  fact,  unpleasant 
enough  in  itself,  of  the  flight  of  time.  It  was  a  curious 
notion,  but  it  had  served  Mr.  Kishu's  purpose  very  well. 
In  the  days  when  he  had  felt  it  necessary  to  do  something 
out  of  the  ordinary  to  attract  people  to  his  office,  it  had 
occurred  to  him  that  there  could  be  devised  no  cheaper 
or  more  effective  method  of  turning  attention  toward  him 
self  and  his  undertakings,  without  giving  occasion  to  in 
vidious  remark.  In  this  he  had  proved  himself,  as  usual, 
a  profound  student  of  the  ordinary  impulses  of  humanity. 
Mr.  Kishu's  clocks  told  something  more  than  the  hour; 
they  told  of  their  owners  harmless  eccentricities,  and  toled 
into  its  unique  and  notable  precincts  many  a  stranger  who 
bore  always  in  memory  afterward  a  pleasing  recollection 
of  the  owner's  courteous  attentions. 

So  the  clocks  greeted  the  master  to  whose  success  in 
life  they  had  faithfully,  but  unconsciously,  contributed,  as 
he  entered  somewhat  earlier  than  usual  by  the  side  door 
which  opened  noiselessly  before  him  as  he  approached. 
Mr.  Kishu  made  it  a  point  never  to  enter  his  office  by  the 
front  door.  As  he  understood  the  art  of  making  others 
come  to  him,  so  also  he  realized  the  advantage  of  know 
ing  in  advance  just  whom  he  was  to  encounter. 

"  Good-morning,  Thomas,"  he  said  to  a  man  in  buttons, 
who  awaited  his  coming.  Thomas  was  a  sort  of  hybrid 
footman,  janitor,  and  messenger  at  Mr.  Kishu's  office. 
His  duty  was  to  have  the  office  swept  and  garnished  by 
eight  o'clock ;  to  don  his  livery  and  be  ready  for  calls  or 
to  meet  m's  master  at  the  side  door  at  any  moment  there 
after;  to  run  of  errands  during  the  day;  and  after  busi 
ness  hours,  to  wind  and  dust  the  clocks.  For  this  service 
he  was  liberally  paid.  Mr.  Kishu,  though  by  no  means 
liberal  with  the  bulk  of  his  employees,  well  understood  the 


324  MURVALE  EASTMAN'. 

desirability  of  having  the  best  personal  attendance,  and 
realized  that  the  way  to  secure  it  was  by  paying  good 
wages. 

"Good-morning,  Thomas,"  was  the  greeting  in  the 
same  even  tones  which  had  fallen  on  the  man's  ears  every 
morning  for  twenty  years,  always  meeting  with  deferential 
response,  for  in  that  time  the  servant  had  never  once  al 
lowed  his  master  to  ring  the  bell  and  never  once  broken 
a  clock. 

"Anybody  in,  Thomas?"  he  inquired  as  the  servant 
followed  him  along  the  narrow  passage  to  his  private 
office,  the  door  of  which  locked  of  itself  upon  the  inside. 

"Nobody,  sir;  you're  a  little  early."  He  cocked  his 
ear  toward  the  striking  clocks  as  he  spoke. 

"Mr.  Lampson?  " 

"  Not  yet,  sir." 

"  You  delivered  my  notes?  " 

"  All  of  them,  sir.  Mr.  Hodnutt  said  he  would  be  in  a 
little  before  ten,  if  convenient  to  you." 

"  You  saw  Lampson  at  the  meeting  last  night ;  how  was 
he?" 

"A  good  deal  excited,  sir;  looked  as  if  he'd  been  prick 
ing  himself  more'n  common." 

"Poor  fellow!  The  excitement  is  too  much  for  him. 
We  shall  have  to  look  after  him  carefully." 

"  Of  course,  sir.     I  followed  him  after  it  was  over." 

"Where  did  he  go?" 

"  Pretty  much  everywhere — a-spoutin'  poetry  to  the 
moon,  but  bringing  up  at  the  same  old  place." 

"On  the  bank  of  the  river,  you  mean?" 

"Yes,  sir;  then  I  steered  him  home.  He  was  a  bit 
ugly,  and  he  went  to  work  like  a  nailer  though  it  was  past 
twelve." 


TAKING  NOTE   OF    TIME.  325 

"  He  is  a  very  faithful  man,  barring  his  misfortune,'' 
said  Mr.  Kishu,  in  a  tone  of  tender  commiseration. 

"  That  he  is,  sir,"  responded  the  servant  heartily. 

"  Send  him  in  as  soon  as  he  comes,  and  in  the  mean 
time  you  may  bring  me  the  Blowhard." 

The  Blowhard  was  Mr.  Kishu's  familiar  term  for  the 
rival  of  the  Thunderbolt.  He  never  used  the  word  except 
in  the  secure  privacy  of  his  own  office,  and  rarely  to  any 
one  but  his  man  Thomas. 

"  Ah,  here  it  is,"  he  continued,  taking  it  from  his  desk. 
This  little  farce  nad  been  repeated  every  day  for  years. 
A  seedy  reporter  who  had  been  discharged  from  the 
Breeze  had  once  called  that  paper  the  Blowhard  in  Mr. 
Kishu's  presence.  Mr.  Kishu  had  not  smiled  at  the  time, 
but  the  next  morning  when  he  asked  Thomas  for  the 
daily  Blowhard  that  worthy's  mouth  had  stretched  almost 
from  ear  to  ear;  and  every  morning  since,  the  jest  and 
the  grin  had  been  repeated. 

The  servant,  having  brushed  his  master's  coat  and  hat 
and  put  them  in  the  wardrobe,  now  went  out  and  left  Mr. 
Kishu  alone  in  his  private  office.  This  office  did  not  be 
lie  its  name.  No  one  could  enter  or  even  glance  into  it 
without  the  owner's  consent.  The  artistically-chased 
ground-glass  which  surrounded  the  upper  part  was  only  a 
duplicate  of  another,  six  inches  away,  and  no  ray  of  light 
was  ever  erratic  enough  to  penetrate  them  both ;  neither 
could  any  sound  creep  through  the  padded  doors.  Three 
russet  chairs  and  a  short  lounge  upholstered  in  the  same 
way,  with  the  desk  and  a  few  curios,  constituted  the  fur 
niture.  By  standing  up  the  occupant  could  look  out  upon 
the  street;  but  a  baffling  ground-glass  screen  hid  those 
within  from  the  scrutiny  of  the  passers-by  whose  figures 
were  thrown  upon  it  as  an  ill-adjusted  plate  in  a  camera. 


326  M UK  I' ALE  EASTMAN. 

The  room  seemed  as  open  as  the  day,  but  in  it  one  was 
as  securely  hidden  as  if  in  the  heart  of  the  Great  Pyramid. 
Mr.  Kishu  sat  down  and  opened  the  damp  folds  of  the 
Breeze;  he  had  already  glanced  at  the  columns  of  the 
Thunderbolt.  Strangely  enough  he  began  the  perusal  of 
the  morning  journal  by  scanning  the  column  of  advertised 
"Wants."  Under  this  he  found  one  which  brought  a 
look  of  strange  anxiety,  almost  alarm,  one  would  have 
said,  into  his  sunken  gray  eyes,  and  sent  an  unusual  pallor 
across  the  fatty  folds  of  his  large,  benevolent  face.  The 
advertisement  which  had  attracted  his  attention  read : 

WANTED. — As  a  companion  piece  :  a  dull  silver  ichthus  ;  reversible 
halves.  If  cryptogram  uninjured,  will  pay  $1,000.  Known  to  have 
been  in  the  city  within  thirty  years.  Full  description  on  application 
to  Alfred  Williams,  Box  1190. 

Mr.  Kishu  was  disturbed.  The  sweat  broke  out  upon 
his  brow.  He  read  the  paragraph  over  once  or  twice. 

"  Who  would  have  supposed  there  were  two?  Of  course 
nothing  is  likely  to  come  of  it,  but  a  thousand  dollars  is  a 
good  deal  to  begin  with.  I  am  sure  nothing  can  be  made 
out  against  me,  but  I  was  indiscreet — and  then — there  is 
Lampson.  I  came  by  it  honestly  enough — but — I  wonder 
if  he  ever  mistrusted  what  was  in  it?  " 

Mr.  Kishu  did  not  utter  these  words.  He  was  not 
given  to  talking  to  himself;  but  he  looked  as  if  he  would 
have  spoken  them  had  he  dared  to  trust  even  the  muffled 
walls  of  his  private  office.  Something  evidently  suggested 
a  new  train  of  thought,  and  he  touched  a  button  which 
rang  an  electric  bell  in  the  outer  office.  At  the  same 
time  the  droning  cuckoo  sounded  the  first  quarter.  Mr. 
Kishu  was  economical  of  time  and  noted  the  fact.  He 
knew  he  had  a  busy  day  before  him  and  could  not  afford 
to  waste  moments.  He  was  going  to  begin  the  campaign 


TAKING   NOTE   OF    TIME.  327 

against  Murvale  Eastman  and  his  League  of  Christian 
Socialists.  He  had  been  preparing  for  it  for  months,  just 
waiting  until  events  might  show  that  the  time  was  ripe. 
The  final  organization  of  the  League  the  night  before  had 
made  farther  delay  unnecessary. 

It  was  an  unusual  course  for  him  to  take.  Hitherto, 
when  any  one  had  stood  in  his  path,  Wilton  Kishu  had 
either  gone  around  the  obstacle  or  found  his  way  under 
it,  but  he  had  been  humiliated  in  three  things  in  which 
his  pride  most  centered.  The  Church  of  the  Golden 
Lilies,  instead  of  shriveling  into  nothingness  on  the  with 
drawal  of  his  favor,  had  shown  a  vitality  never  before  sus 
pected  ;  the  stroke  aimed  at  the  affections  of  the  pastor 
seemed  to  have  rebounded  against  his  daughter;  and  the 
Thunderbolt  had  not  only  been  compelled  to  "  eat  dirt  by 
the  handful,"  in  popular  phraseology,  but  had  had  its 
fangs  drawn  for  many  months  at  least  by  a  well-founded 
apprehension  of  the  results  of  its  foolish  assault  upon  a 
woman  not  only  reputable  but  rich  and  influential  a;s  well. 
Mr.  Kishu  honestly  wished  he  had  allowed  the  young  min 
ister  to  take  his  own  course,  but  he  had  been  so  long  the 
controlling  force  in  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies,  that 
he  never  once  imagined  that  he  would  be  unable  to  con 
trol  the  young  pastor,  or  at  least  compel  him  to  acknowl 
edge  the  leadership  of  the  chief  parishioner  in  whatever 
he  might  choose  to  undertake.  The  fact  that  he  had  not 
succeeded,  but  that  every  act  of  obstruction  and  disap 
proval  upon  his  part  had  apparently  added  to  the  pastor's 
popularity,  was  especially  aggravating  to  him,  and  he  had 
consequently  decided  on  aggressive  measures  to  crush  the 
man  he  could  not  undermine  and  the  movement  which 
dared  to  seek  popular  approval  without  first  securing  his 
patronage  and  asking  his  advice. 


328  MCRVALE  EASTMAN. 

There  was  a  tap  at  the  door  by  which  the  servant  had 
retired.  Mr.  Kishu  turned  the  handle  which  disconnected 
a  wire,  leaving  the  bolt  free  as  he  responded: 

"Come!" 

The  man  whom  Stearns  had  designated  as  "  Goggles," 
opened  the  door  and  advanced  to  the  desk. 

"  Good-morning,  Lampson,"  said  Mr.  Kishu  in  his  soft 
est  tone. 

The  other  bowed,  but  did  not  answer. 

Mr.  Lampson  was  known  to  all  the  city  as  Wilton 
Kishu's  private  secretary,  the  most  trusted  and  faithful  of 
familiars.  Hardly  taller  when  standing  than  his  employer 
when  seated,  his  shoulders  and  chest  were  fully  developed, 
with  a  head  that  showed  capacity  and  intelligence,  though 
the  countenance  had  a  furtive,  almost  haunted,  expression 
and  his  eyes  were  nearly  concealed  by  the  double  glasses 
which  he  wore,  from  which  his  popular  designation  of 
"  Goggles  "  was  derived.  From  his  hips  down,  the  body 
seemed  to  belong  to  a  different  person.  The  lirnbs  were 
short  and  slender,  the  hips  narrow  and  weak.  Upon  the 
street  he  usually  carried  a  crutch,  sometimes  a  crutch  and 
cane.  To  the  surgical  observer  his  physical  history  was 
an  open  book.  At  some  period  of  his  adolescent  life  the 
spine  had  suffered  injury  in  the  lumbar  region.  Nervous 
power  had  been  impaired  until  an  inharmonious  develop 
ment  resulted.  From  the  hips  upward  he  was  a  man : 
from  the  waist  downward  hardly  more  than  a  child.  This 
arrested  development  was  particularly  attested  by  his  feet, 
which  were  hardly  larger  than  those  of  a  boy  of  twelve, 
and  one  of  them  evidently  imperfect,  as  it  was'  lifted  from 
the  floor  at  the  rear  by  a  shoe-heel  several  times  as  thick 
as  the  other.  His  face  bore  the  marks  of  that  subtle  dis 
sipation  which  the  hypodermic  injector  has  made  possible 


AN  UNGRATEFUL  PROTEGE.  329 

to  the  habitual  sufferer.  His  hands  trembled  as  he  ap 
proached  his  employer  with  a  faltering  step. 

"  You've  been  at  it  again,"  said  Mr.  Kishu  in  a  re 
proachful  tone. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,"  answered  the  clerk  sullenly. 

"You  know  what  the  consequence  will  be!  " 

"  It  doesn't  matter.  If  a  man  is  on  the  rack,  or  is  be 
ing  sawed  in  two,  he  is  not  going  to  stop  to  ask  what  will 
be  the  consequence,  when  he  knows  that  one  touch  of  the 
thumb  will  give  him  ease." 

"I've, warned  you  often  enough.  You  know  the  risk. 
Of  course,  if  you  are  to  go  on  in  this  way,  I  can't  keep 
you  here.  I've  endangered  my  own  reputation  as  long  as 
I  can  for  one  who  exposes  himself  in  that  way." 

The  clerk  stood  mute,  but  his  dark,  sodden  face 
blanched  as  if  with  fear,  and  his  shaded  eyes  looked  back 
to  see  if  the  door  was  closed  behind  him.  In  every  look 
and  tone  he  showed  the  confirmed  opium  inebriate. 


CHAPTER    XXIX. 

AN    UNGRATEFUL    PROTE*GE\ 

"  I  SUPPOSE  you  got  the  report  of  last  night's  pow-wow?  " 
continued  Mr.  Kishu  after  a  moment,  not  without  a  tinge 
of  anxiety  in  his  tone.  His  private  clerk  was  one  of  the 
most  accomplished  stenographers  in  the  city,  but  because 
of  his  infirmity,  not  always  reliable. 

"  I  got  it  all  right,"  answered  the  clerk  sullenly,  still 
looking  down  at  his  miniature  feet  and  tracing  with  the 
toe  of  one  polished  boot  the  pattern  of  the  carpet. 


3JO  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

"  There  were  no — no  whimsicalities  in  it,  I  hope,''  said 
the  employer  severely. 

"  I  don't  know  of  any." 

"  Because  you  know  you  must  be  able  to  swear  to  every 
word  of  it." 

"  Oh,  I  can  do  that." 

"And  the  copies?" 

"  I  sent  them  off,  first  mail,  one  to  Mr.  Speedwell  and 
another  to  Dr.  Phue;  they've  got  them  by  this  time." 
He  turned  his  head  on  one  side  and  listened  to  the  strik 
ing  of  the  clocks  which  gave  a  clew  to  the  time  of  day 
more  by  their  succession  than  by  the  announcement  made. 

"You  asked  them  to  call?" 

"Dr.  Phue  at  eleven-thirty  and  Mr.  Speedwell  at 
twelve." 

"  Good;  and  the  Trustees?  " 

"  They  will  be  here  at  ten.  Deacon  Hodnutt  thought 
he  might  drop  in  a  half-hour  before." 

"  I  declare,  Lampson,"  said  Kishu,  "  you  are  invaluable. 
I  don't  believe  I  could  get  along  without  you  even  for  a 
week.  And  you — you  couldn't  live  without  me,  could  you, 
Lampson?  Not  for  any  considerable  time,  that  is?  " 

There  was  something  insidiously  threatening  in  the  em 
ployers  tone. 

"  I  suppose  not,"  answered  the  clerk,  doggedly,  his  face 
blanching  with  a  sort  of  dumb  terror. 

"  Not  very  long,  Lampson,  not  very  long,"  said  Kishu 
significantly.  "  That's  why  there's  such  a  good  under 
standing  between  us,  isn't  it?  But  then  you  know  I'll 
take  care  of  you,  don't  yon,  Lampson?  You  oughtn't  to 
get  on  such  sprees.  I  can't  always  keep  watch  of  you. 
Have  you  read  the  Breeze  this  morning?  " 

"  Had  a  good  deal  of  time  to  read  the  news,  haven't  I?  " 


AN   UNGRATEFUL   PROT£c£.  331 

"  Poor  fellow!  You  did  have  a  hard  night,"  said  Kishu 
commiseratingly.  "  Don't  you  think  you  could  let  the 
stuff  alone  for  a  while?  " 

"  What's  the  use?  "  asked  the  clerk  angrily.  "  Isn't  that 
the  only  bit  of  comfort  I  have?  Do  you  think  I  could 
work  night  and  day,  if  I  didn't  use  it?  " 

"Ah,  you  think  you  have  to  work  too  hard,  do  you?" 

The  clerk  did  not  answer. 

"Perhaps  you'd  like  to  leave?" 

Lampson  bit  his  lip,  but  made  no  reply. 

"  I  see  you  would,  and  I  don't  want  any  man  to  serve 
me  unwillingly.  You'll  have  to  be  careful,  though.  You 
know  you  are  not  to  be  trusted.  When  you  are  under  the 
T — the  influence,  you  know  you  talk,  and  when  you  talk 
you  say — well — you  say  surprising  things  sometimes — 
very  surprising  they  would  be  to  strangers.  Your  nerves 
are  unstrung,  Lampson.  You  need  rest." 

A  sardonic  smile  crept  over  the  clerk's  face. 

"  How  would  you  like  a  leave  of  absence,  Lampson — 
leave  of  absence  for  six  months  or  a  year,  with  plenty  of 
money,  to  go  where  you  choose?  " 

Lampson's  eyes  sought  his  employer's  face  with  furtive 
wistfulness. 

"  You  don't  think  I  mean  it,"  said  Kishu  in  reproach 
ful  tones.  "  Haven't  T  always  promised  to  do  well  by 
you?  How  would  the  Bermudas  do  now,  for  the  winter, 
with  five  thousand  dollars?  Or  ten  thousand  if  you  want 
it?  I  only  wish  to  keep  you  from  spending  it  foolishly, 
you  know." 

"  I've  only  one  life  to  live." 

"  But  you  might  have  children,  Lampson." 

The  dwarf  scowled  angrily. 

"  You  needn't  be  offended,  Lampson.  I've  often  thought 


332  MURVALE  EAST  MAX. 

it  would  be  wise.  You  know  you  talk  about  things ;  and  a 
wife — well,  a  wife  cannot  be  a  witness.  Suppose  I  make 
it  ten  thousand  now,  and  ten  thousand  a  year  from  now, 
when  you  marry — with  my  approval,  of  course/' 

The  other  could  not  conceal  his  elation,  but  made  no 
answer. 

"  I  see  you  like  it.  Well,  I  will  fill  out  a  check  for  ten 
thousand.  There  is  a  boat  leaves  for  Bermuda  to-mor 
row.  You  will  have  plenty  of  chance  to  have  a  good  time 
after  you  get  there,  but  it  might  be  best  to  keep  yourself 
straight  until  you  are  afloat  at  least." 

"Oh,  I  will— I  will,"  said  the  man  with  trembling  earn 
estness. 

"  Well,"  said  Kishu  opening  a  drawer  and  taking  out  a 
check -book,  "I  will  send  Thomas  to  engage  your  state 
room,  and  he  will  help  you  get  ready." 

The  servant  entered  as  he  spoke,  to  inform  him  of 
Deacon  Hodnutt's  arrival. 

"  Show  him  in,"  said  Mr.  Kishu. 

"  Good-morning,  deacon !  "  he  exclaimed  as  he  looked 
up  while  he  was  blotting  the  signature  with  his  white, 
pudgy  hands.  "  Take  a  seat ;  I'm  just  settling  with  Lamp- 
son,  you  see.  He's  been  with  me  a  long  time,  but  has 
decided  to  leave.  Wants  to  see  the  world,  you  know. 
Going  to  the  Bermudas,  he  tells  me.  Pretty  good-sized 
check,  isn't  it?  "  holding  the  paper  up  to  Hodnutt.  "  But 
he's  been  with  me  a  long  time — a  long  time.  Well,  here 
'tis,  Lampson.  I  hope  youUl  have  a  good  time.  Send 
Thomas  to  me,  won't  you?  Good-by." 

He  held  out  his  hand  and  Lampson  took  it  doubtfully, 
then  bowed  to  the  visitor  and  went  out. 

"  Good  man,"  said  Hodnutt,  nodding  toward  the  door 
which  closed  behind  the  retreating  clerk. 


'Atf   UNGRATEFUL  PROTEG&.  333 

"I  shall  never  find  his  match,"  said  Kishu,  "but  he  is 
getting  dissatisfied,  and  just  now  is  a  little  off  his  base." 

"  Is  it  wise  to  let  him  have  so  much  money?  " 

"  Ah,  that's  all  right.  He  will  probably  not  use  a  dollar 
of  it.  He  is  only  anxious  to  know  he  has  it,  and  to-mor 
row  will  probably  give  me  back  the  check  and  ask  me  to 
keep  it  for  him." 

"  He  is  not  really  going  to  leave  then?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  think  he  had  better  go  on  a  sea-voyage,  but 
not  with  anything  like  that  amount  of  money." 

Lampson  walked  along  the  passage  to  his  desk  in  the 
outer  room  of  the  office  clutching  the  check  in  his  hand, 
and  climbed  upon  the  stool  he  had  occupied  for  twenty 
years.  Throwing  up  the  lid  he  took  a  small,  needle- 
pointed  instrument  from  its  case,  threw  off  his  coat  and 
bared  his  left  arm  to  the  shoulder.  It  was  scarred  and 
pallid.  Seeking  eagerly  for  an  unscarified  spot  with  that 
curious  notion  which  leads  the  victim  of  the  opium  habit 
to  suppose  it  necessary  to  the  full  effect  of  the  drug  that 
it  should  be  applied  to  a  fresh  place  every  time,  he  seized 
the  injector  and  despite  his  trembling  filled  and  discharged 
it  with  wonderful  celerity.  The  change  was  almost  instan 
taneous.  The  bowed,  depressed  figure  became  upright; 
the  head  was  thrown  back;  the  eyes  flashed,  and  hardly 
had  he  fastened  his  sleeve  and  donned  his  coat  when  the 
light  of  a  fixed  purpose  shone  upon  his  face. 

"  Thomas/'  he  exclaimed,  turning  quickly  upon  his 
stool,  "  I  forgot  to  tell  you  that  Mr.  Kishu  wants  you  to 
run  over  to  Speedwell's  and  ask  him  to  lunch  here  at  one 
instead  of  coining  at  twelve.  You'd  better  hurry;  you 
know  he  likes  to  have  things  done  lively." 

"That  he  does,"  exclaimed  the  man;  "why  didn't  you 
tell  me  before?" 


334  MVXVAL&  EASTMAX. 

He  did  not  wait  for  an  answer,  but  started  at  once  upon 
his  errand. 

Lampson  swung  himself  from  his  stool,  and  a  moment 
after  had  boarded  a  car  which  took  him  to  the  bank  on 
which  his  check  was  drawn.  Ten  minutes  afterward  he 
entered  an  office  on  the  door  of  which  was  the  modest 
sign,  "  Herman  Metziger,  Attorney." 


CHAPTER   XXX. 

AN    ILLIBERAL    DEFINITION    OF    LIBERALITY. 

"  WELL,  deacon,1'  said  Kishu,  as  Lampson  closed  the 
door  behind  him,  "  I  suppose  you're  not  much  more  in 
clined  to  go  off  with  this  *  Christian  Socialist  movement,' 
as  they  call  it,  than  I?" 

"  I  don't  know  about  going  off,"  answered  the  deacon ; 
"  but  you  see — well,  I've  attended  all  their  meetings,  and 
really — you  ought  to  have  been  there,  Mr.  Kishu.  I'm 
sure  you  would  have  enjoyed  them." 

"You  mean  the  socialistic  pow-wows?" 

"  Yes ;  they  are  very  interesting — and — very  improving, 
too." 

"  Yes,  no  doubt,"  sarcastically.  "  You  seem  almost  as 
much  carried  away  with  this  young  upstart  as  poor  old 
Deacon  Goodyear." 

Mr.  Kishu  spoke  very  excitedly  and  bitterly,  for  him 
at  least.  He  attributed  most  of  his  success  in  life  to 
the  fact  that  he  never  said  anything  to  give  offense;  but 
the  occurrences  of  the  past  two  weeks  had  been  too  much 
for  even  his  equanimity.  Irritated  not  only  by  what  had 
happened,  but  by  what  seemed  impending,  he  had 


AN  ILLIBERAL  DEFINITION  OF  LIBERALITY.     335 

grown  reckless  in  his  words  and  determined  to  crush  those 
whom  he  had  come  to  regard  as  his  enemies.  He  felt 
something  of  the  impulse  which  inspired  the  mocked  and 
blinded  Samson,  and  was  almost  ready  to  pull  down  on  his 
own  head  as  well  as  theirs,  the  structure  he  had  so  care, 
fully  built  up. 

This  feeling  had  been  intensified  by  the  apparent  suc 
cess  of  the  Christian  Socialist  League,  the  unexpected 
popularity  of  Murvale  Eastman,  and  the  nagging  insistence 
of  Mrs.  Kishu,  who  could  talk  of  nothing  but  going  abroad 
to  escape  the  humiliation  of  their  position.  Anything 
more  galling  to  a  man  of  Wilton  Kishu's  character  could 
hardly  be  conceived.  He  did  not  love  himself  so  much, 
but  the  Wilton  Kishu  whom  others  esteemed  so  highly 
was  the  object  of  his  unremitting  adoration.  He  wor 
shiped  not  himself,  but  his  shadow.  That  others  should 
recognize  his  situation  only  added  a  fresh  sting  to  his 
agony,  so  that  without  any  suspicion  of  her  real  purpose 
he  had  consented  that  his  wife  and  daughter  might  sail 
for  Europe  at  an  early  day.  His  wife  had  accepted  this 
concession  with  evident  delight ;  his  daughter,  with  quiet 
indifference.  While,  therefore,  he  was  planning  his  cam 
paign  of  aggression,  he  knew  his  family  were  arranging  for 
flight  to  avoid  witnessing  his  discomfiture. 

No  wonder  the  fact  angered  him,  and  despite  his  con 
fidence  in  his  own  success,  he  could  not  repress  the  sense 
of  angry  contempt  which  showed  in  his  words. 

Deacon  Hodnutt  was  not  a  man  of  quick  perceptions, 
but  of  a  rugged  purpose,  which  had  enabled  him  to  ac 
quire  an  ample  fortune.  He  was  especially  faithful  to 
his  friends.  One  of  the  closest  of  these  was  Deacon 
Goodyear,  and  one  of  the  strongest  of  his  convictions  was 
that  this  mild-mannered,  unfortunate  friend  was  about  the 


336  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

best  man  in  the  world.  So  he  answered  the  angry  mag 
nate  not  at  all  subserviently,  but  yet  with  a  touch  of  that 
accustomed  deference  which  years  of  leadership  almost 
always  inspire.  The  way  was  still  open  for  Mr.  Kishu  to 
return  and  take  his  old  place  in  the  Church  of  the  Golden 
Lilies.  He  thought  of  it  as  he  listened  to  the  words  of 
his  colleague,  and  was  for  a  moment  intoxicated  with  the 
thought  of  the  ovation  he  would  receive  from  the  de 
lighted  congregation.  Then  he  put  away  the  vision  and 
determined  not  to  abandon  his  purpose.  He  was  on  the 
war-path,  and  he  would  not  rest  until  the  scalps  of  his 
enemies  hung  at  his  girdle. 

In  that  moment,  Wilton  Kishu  lost  the  opportunity  of 
his  life,  stamped  himself  as  a  failure  even  when  measured 
by  his  own  standards.  Yet  he  was  not  a  bad  man,  only  a 
type  of  what  to-day's  tendencies  encourage  men  to  be 
come. 

"  Deacon  Goodyear  may  be  old,  Mr.  Kishu,1'  said  Hod- 
nutt,  "and  of  course  he  is  poor;  everybody  knows  that: 
but  it  doesn't  become  me  or  you  to  speak  of  him  in  that 
way.  He's  had  hard  luck,  isn't  able  to  pay  his  debts,  and 
has  a  large  family  to  support,  but  there  aren't  many  men 
in  the  city  who  do  more  good,  year  in  and  year  out,  than 
he.  I'm  able  to  do  a  hundred  times  as  much;  and  you, 
five  or  six  times  as  much  as  I,  but  put  us  both  together, 
we  don't  do  half  as  much." 

"  I  endeavor  to  be  as  liberal  as  I  can  afford,"  said 
Kishu,  rather  stiffly. 

"  Liberal!  You  don't  know  what  the  word  means  com 
pared  with  Goodyear,"  exclaimed  his  blunt  friend.  "I 
don't  say  you  don't  give  as  large  a  per  cent,  of  your  in 
come — though  I  don't  think  it  at  all  likely — but  you  must 
remember  that  what  you  give  is  all  superfluity,  and  what 


AN  ILLIBERAL  DEFIXITtOX  Of  LIBERALITY.     337 

he  gives  he  pinches  out  of  his  bread  and  butter  and  saves 
out  of  his  clothes.  You  can  hardly  remember  when  he 
had  a  new  coat,  and  I  don't  believe  you  ever  saw  him  in 
a  street-car." 

"  Nobody  is  called  upon  to  deprive  himself  of  reasona 
ble  comforts  in  order  to  help  others." 

"  Probably  not ;  I  don't  know  as  I  think  he  is.  I  cer 
tainly  don't  do  it;  but  Goodyear  does,  and  you  know  it. 
That  isn't  all  he  does,  either.  There's  that  class  of  his  in 
the  Sabbath-school — more'n  fifty  of  them,  all  young  men 
— I  wouldn't  wonder  if  there  was  a  hundred  of  them  by 
this  time.  Six  months  ago  there  wasn't  one.  Did  you 
ever  know  how  he  got  them  together — he  and  the  minis 
ter — I  don't  know  which  started  it?  Well,  they  just  took 
to  walking  the  streets  Saturday  nights  and  kind  of  getting 
hold  of  young  men  that  hadn't  exactly  gone  to  the  bad, 
but  were  on  the  road  to  the  devil,  and  bringing* them 
around  and  making  them  at  home  in  the  church.  You 
and  I  give  money,  but  Goodyear  gives  his  time  and  sym 
pathy,  takes  an  interest,  don't  you  see,  in  these  young  men, 
gives  them  his  arm  when  they're  in  slippery  places,  and 
don't  let  them  go  down.  He  don't  ever  fuss  at  them  nor 
scold  them,  nor  stuff  them  with  religion.  He  says  that 
ain't  his  way.  Just  make  a  man  want  to  do  right,  he  says, 
and  there  ain't  much  danger  of  his  going  wrong;  but  try 
to  scare  him  off  from  doing  wrong,  and  he's  like  a  boy  at 
a  ball  game — he  ain't  going  to  rest  until  he  sees  all  that's 
to  be  seen,  if  he  has  to  see  it  through  a  knot-hole. 

"  I  tell  you  the  deacon  may  be  poor  in  this  world's 
goods,  but  I  don't  know  of  anybody  that'll  have  as  big  a 
pile  of  vouchers  for  good  deeds  done  in  Christ's  name 
when  he  comes  to  settle  up  as  old  Goodyear,  unless  it's 
the  young  minister;  if  he  keeps  on  in  the  way  he's  begun, 
22 


33  &  MCRl'ALE    EAST  MAX. 

he  ain't  likely  to  be  far  behind.  It  don't  do  for  us  to  talk 
lightly  of  such  a  man  as  the  deacon,  Kishu;  he  hasn't 
had  a  new  hat  in  five  years  to  my  certain  knowledge,  but 
if  we  ever  have  the  luck  to  see  him  in  the  New  Jerusalem, 
we'll  feel  as  sheepish  beside  him  as  a  man  does  sometimes 
when  he  dreams  of  dodging  along  the  street  in  broad  day 
light  with  nothing  on  but  his  shirt." 

"  One  would  think  no  one  else  had  ever  done  anything 
for  the  Golden  Lilies  but  Goodyear/'  said  Kishu,  testily. 

"  I  didn't  say  that  nor  anything  like  it.  I've  done 
something  for  it,  and  you've  done  a  good  deal — in  a  way. 
I  don't  doubt  but  we've  both  got  what  we  call  'religion,' 
though  I  sometimes  question  whether  mine's  the  genuine 
sort — I  do  indeed — "  the  sturdy  deacon  added  as  he  met 
the  other's  reproving  glances.  "  I'm  sure  I  couldn't  do 
what  Goodyear  does,  or  the  minister,  either;  but  per 
haps}"  he  continued  humbly,  "  I'll  find  something  else  that 
I  can  do.  I  am  beginning  to  see  that  the  minister  is  right 
in  his  notion  that  in  the  warfare  which  Christianity  and 
civilization  wage  with  evil,  there  is  no  such  thing  as  put 
ting  in  a  substitute.  That's  the  way  you  and  I  did  in  the 
war-time,  when  we  were  young,  and  that's  the  way  both 
of  us  got  our  start  in  life,  too.  But  in  this  war,  as  Mr. 
Eastman  says,  everybody  has  got  to  do  his  own  share  of 
the  fighting,  and  do  it  himself." 

"  I  am  surprised  at  your  being  so  carried  away  with  that 
young  man's  specious  words,"  said  Kishu,  in  conciliatory 
tones,  recognizing  the  mistake  into  which  he  had  fallen 
before.  "  But  do  you  think  he  is  sound — doctrinally,  I 
mean?  Some  of  the  foremost  men  in  our  denomination, 
you  know,  have  taken  issue  with  him,  have  counseled  him 
and  advised  him;  but  he  will  not  listen  to  them.  For 
myself,  I  don't  think  it's  right  to  countenance  such  things. 


AN  ILLIBERAL  DEFINITION  OF  LIB  ERA  Li  T  Y.     3  *  9 

I  once  thought  very  highly  of  Eastman,  as  you  know,  and 
looked  forward  to — well,  to  a  much  closer  relation  with 
him,  but —  Mr.  Kishu  paused,  cast  his  eyes  down  upon 

the  table  before  him,  and  arched  his  neck  until  the  fatty 
rolls  fell  over  his  collar  upon  one  side,  in  the  endeavor  to 
impress  upon  his  hearer  the  importance  and  delicacy  of 
the  statement  he  was  about  to  make — "well,"  he  added 
with  a  sigh,  "  when  he  started  into  forbidden  ways  I  was 
compelled  to — to — remind  my  daughter  of  the  injunction^ 
c  Be  ye  not  unequally  yoked  with  unbelievers.'  " 

"So  I've  heard,  so  I've  heard,"  replied  Hodnutt  with 
an  embarrassed  air ;  "  that  of  course  is  your  own  business — 
yours  and  your  daughter's,  that  is — but  in  my  opinion  you 
both  made  a  mistake  you'll  be  sorry  for." 

"  Of  course,  he  is  a  very  respectable  young  man  with  good 
prospects,  so  far  as  this  world's  affairs  are  concerned,  but 
I  had  to  look  beyond  that,  sir,  in  advising  my  daughter- 
I  couldn't  have  her  subject  herself  to  humiliation,  and  her 
children,  if  she  should  have  any,  to  the  peril  of  unbelief. 
I  admit  he  is  an  estimable  man  personally,  and  by  the  use 
of  somewhat  sensational  methods  has  succeeded  in  mak 
ing  himself  rather  popular,  but  I  do  not  think  his  doctrine 
is  sound,  and — well,  really,  Mr.  Hodnutt,  I  have  never  re 
garded  him  as  a  man  of  special  ability — not  an  eloquent 
man,  I  mean;  have  you?" 

"  Oh,  not  at  all,"  was  the  ready  reply.  "  I  often  tell 
people  that  he  is  no  preacher.  That  is,  he  does  not  stir 
and  thrill  people  as  those  who  are  called  great  preachers  do. 
He  hasn't  a  bit  of  what  we  sometimes  call  magnetism 
about  him.  But  he's  got  something  else  that  the  mag 
netic  man  rarely  has,  and  that  is  sense.  I  do  think  he  has 
more  sense  that  any  other  man  I  ever  saw,  and  the  most 
sensible  way  of  applying  it,  too.  He  doesn't  lose  his 


temper,  nor  get  into  a  tantrum,  nor  call  people  names. 
To  hear  him  discourse  about  religion,  and  things  of  that 
sort,  is  just  like  sitting  down  and  talking  business  with  a 
level-headed  man ;  it's  all  so  clear  and  easy  to  understand. 
I  don't  know  about  his  doctrine — I'm  not  very  well  up  in 
such  things,  you  know — but  as  far  as  I  can  see,  I  must 
say  it  suits  me  as  well  as  any  I've  heard."' 

"But  Dr.  Phue " 

"  I  wish  you  would  not  tell  me  what  he  says,"  inter 
rupted  Hodnutt.  "  It  always  makes  me  wicked  to  hear 
him  preach,  and  somehow,  lately — since  our  meetings  have 
been  going  on.  I  mean,"  said  the  good  man  in  a  tremu 
lous  voice,  "  I  don't  like  to  feel  so  about  any  one.  I 
don't  doubt  Dr.  Phue  is  a  good  man,  at  least  I  hope  he 
is,  but  he's  hard,  Mr.  Kishu — hard  as  the  nether  mill 
stone — harder'n  I'd  like  to  think  of  the  Lord  being,  on 
the  judgment  day.  Don't  tell  me  what  he  says.  •  I'm  go 
ing  to  stay  with  Mr.  Eastman,  no  matter  what  is  said." 

"  He'll  be  expelled  from  the  Association,"  said  Kishu, 
sharply. 

"  Shouldn't  wonder,  if  what  I've  heard  is  true,  that  is." 

"What'llyoudothen?" 

"  Time  enough  to  decide,  when  that  is  done,"  answered 
Hodnutt,  sorrowfully,  "  but  I  expect  I  shall  stand  by  Mr. 
Eastman,  all  the  same." 

"  I  declare,"  exclaimed  Kishu,  settling  back  in  his  chair, 
and  staring  at  the  other  with  an  expression  of  grieved  dis 
approval  on  his  broad  dish-face,  "  I  never  saw  such  in 
fatuation.  I  suppose  a  majority  of  the  church  will  go 
with  you  and  Goodyear?  " 

"  It's  more  than  likely." 

"  Of  course,  anybody  can  go  off  and  set  up  an  inde 
pendent  church;  that's  easy  enough;  but  I  want  it  under- 


AN  ILLIBERAL  DEFINITION-  OF  LIBERALITY.     341 

stood  that  they  can't  keep  on  using  the  Golden  Lilies.  I 
shall  have  something  to  say  about  that." 

The  other  made  no  response. 

"  You  know  I  gave  the  ground  on  which  the  church  is 
built?" 

"  Yes." 

"  You  are  one  of  the  trustees  it  was  deeded  to,  I  be 
lieve?" 

"  That's  my  recollection." 

"  Did  you  ever  notice  the  provisions  of  that  deed?  " 

"  Don't  think  I  ever  did ;  Mr.  Speedwell  said  it  was  all 
right." 

"  So  it  was.  You  know  when  a  man  makes  a  gift,  he 
has  a  right  to  name  his  own  conditions?" 

The  other  bowed  assentingly. 

"  Well,  one  of  the  conditions  of  that  deed  is  that  the 
property  shall  be  used  exclusively — mind  the  word — ex 
clusively,  as  a  place  of  worship  for  a  church  and  congrega 
tion  in  strict  accordance  with  the  policy  and  doctrines  of 
our  denomination." 

"Well?" 

"  Well !  I  should  think  it  was  time  to  say, '  Well ! '  Don't 
you  see,  as  quick  as  it  is  used  for  any  other  purpose,  the 
condition  is  broken  and  it  comes  back  to  me?" 

"Church  and  all?" 

"  Of  course ;  the  building  is  part  of  the  realty,  isn't  it?  " 

"I  suppose  so;  but  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  would 
go  and  take  the  church  away  from  our  people?  " 

"Why  not?  Do  you  suppose  I  am  going  to  have  my 
gift  used  for  a  pauper  hospital  and  a  lodge-room  for  an 
archists?  " 

"I  wouldn't  say  that,  Mr.  Kishu,"  remonstrated  his 
friend. 


342  Ml'RTALE   EASTMAN, 

"  Well,  I  will  say  it,  and  what's  more,  I'll  prove  it,  too," 
said  Kishu  angrily.  "  I'm  going  to  bring  suit  against  the 
trustees,  the  managers  of  this  club  of  anarchists,  and  the 
sick  pauper  in  the  study,  and  put  them  all  out,  neck  and 
crop,  unless  the  church  is  willing  to  dismiss  Eastman,  and 
turn  out — the^— the — what  do  you  call  it?'" 

"  League  of  Christian  Socialists  is  the  corporate  name," 
answered  Hodnutt. 

"Corporate?     I  didn't  know  it  was  incorporated." 

"  Yes ;  and  I  happen  to  be  one  of  the  incorporators." 

"  And  you  expect  to  use  the  church?  " 

"  I  think  Metziger  has  fixed  up  the  papers  giving  us  the 
use  of  the  lecture-room.  I  suppose  something  of  the  kind 
has  been  done  at  least." 

"  And  you  propose  to  contest  my  right  to  the  property?  " 

"  I  guess  we'll  have  to." 

"  See  here,  Hodnutt,"  said  Kishu  after  a  pause,  "  you'd 
better  get  out  of  the  Socialistic  business  as  fast  as  you 
can;  it's  a  bad  thing  and  got  a  bad  name." 

"  I  used  to  think  so,  myself;  but  when  you  come  to  put 
the  other  name  with  it,  and  say  Christian  Socialists,  I  don't 
see  any  objection  to  it." 

"But  there  isn't  any  such  thing — there  can't  be!  You 
might  as  well  talk  about  peaceful  thieves  or  pious  mur 
derers!  " 

"  Well,  I've  heard  of  such  things,"  said  Hodnutt,  coolly, 

"  I  credited  you  with  more  sense,  Mr.  Hodnutt.  You 
must  be  worth  as  much  as  half  a  million  dollars." 

"  Probably,"  was  the  cautious  reply. 

"  Now,  don't  you  see  that  the  object  of  this  thing  is  to 
take  away  from  us  what  we've  got,  and  give  it  to  them 
that  are  too  lazy  to  work  as  we've  done?  " 

"  I  don't  see  it  that  way." 


AN  ILLIBERAL  DEFIXI  TfO.V  OF  LIB  ERA  LIT  V.     3  43 

"  Why,  don't  they  claim  that  the  object  of  civilization 
and  Christianity  is  to  equalize  conditions — to  take  away 
from  the  rich  and  give  to  the  poor?  " 

"  That  isn't  the  way  I  look  at  it.  What  I  understand  is 
that  we  are  going  to  try  to  find  out  if  there  is  any  way  to 
keep  a  few  men  from  getting  more  than  they  need,  and 
helping  the  rest  to  get  as  much  as  they  need,  of  this 
world's  goods.  And  that's  what  I'm  in  favor  of,  Brother 
Kishu,  ain't  you?  " 

"  No  one  has  a  right  to  take  away  from  another  what 
he  has  earned." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  you  have  earned  all  you've 
got?  " 

"  I've  got  it  lawfully,  which  is  the  same  thing.  It's 
mine,  and  nobody  has  any  right  to  touch  a  stiver  of  it." 

"That's  just  the  thing;  you  got  it  lawfully,  and  you 
found  it  easier  to  increase  it  the  richer  you  grew,  didn't 
you?" 

"Certainly;  it's  not  much  trouble  to  make  a  fortune 
after  one  has  a  good  foundation;  everybody  knows  that." 

"  The  hard  thing  is  to  get  a  start." 

"  Of  course." 

"  Well,  now,  don't  you  think  it  would  be  better  if  it  was 
just  turned  around  and  made  easy  to  get  a  start  and  hard 
to  get  more  than  enough?" 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  said  Kishu  coldly. 

"I  don't  know  as  I  can  explain  it;  but  here's  my  idea. 
Say  you're  worth  a  million — I  know  you're  worth  more, 
but  never  mind  that.  Now  if  there  were  ten  families  worth 
a  hundred  thousand  dollars  apiece,  instead  of  one  worth  a 
million,  don't  you  think  there  would  be  more  happiness  in 
the  world?" 

"  I  suppose  so." 


344  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

"Or  say  a  hundred  families  worth  ten  thousand  dol 
lars  apiece?  " 

"  Probably." 

"  I  don't  know  how  it  may  be  with  you,  but  I  haven't 
ever  been  as  happy  since  I  passed  the  limit  when  my 
daily  labor  was  an  essential  element  of  my  family's  com 
fort." 

"But  how  are  you  going  to  effect  such  a  change?  It 
can't  be  done — lawfully,  at  least." 

"  Perhaps  not.  That's  what  we're  going  to  try  and  find 
out.  I  don't  know  how,  but  I've  got  an  idea  it'll  be  some 
thing  on  the  plan  we  used  to  adopt  to  make  our  horses 
pull  even.  You  know  we  sometimes  had  a  horse  that 
would  insist  on  getting  ahead  of  his  mate.  Do  you  re 
member  how  we  used  to  keep  him  back  to  his  place?  " 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  do." 

"  Well,  I  do ;  we  gave  him  the  short  arm  of  the  evener." 

"  Made  him  pull  the  biggest  share,  of  the .  load,  you 
mean?  " 

"  That's  it  exactly.  Now,  I've  a  notion  that  when  this 
question  comes  to  be  solved,  it  will  be  by  something  of 
that  kind — something  that'll  take  part  of  the  load  off  the 
weak  ones  that  are  tugging  hopelessly  at  life's  burden,  and 
put  it  on  the  strong  ones  who  are  able  to  do  more  than 
provide  for  themselves." 

"  And  you  think  that  would  be  just?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not." 

"  And  you  expect  me  to  furnish  a  church  for  the  dis 
semination  of  such  doctrines?" 

"  You  did  not  build  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies, 
Brother  Kishu." 

"  It's  on  my  land,  and  the  law  makes  it  mine." 

"  Then  the  law  is  wrong,"  said  Hodnutt,  positively. 


GOD'S  ANOINTED   PHUE,  345 

"  Well,  I'm  content  to  take  the  law  as  it  is.  Perhaps 
your  Christian  Socialists  will  change  it." 

"  They  ought  to  at  least." 

"They  can't  do  it;  and  your  folks  will  have  to  decide 
whether  you'll  agree  to  my  terms  or  be  turned  out.  I 
think  I'd  rather  like  to  have  a  church  all  by  myself,  any 
how." 

"  If  the  law  gives  you  the  building,  I  suppose  you'll  get 
it ;  but  I  shall  not  consent  until  we've  been  to  the  highest 
court  in  the  land."- 

"You'll  be  alone  then,  for  the  other  trustees  are  with 
me.  Do  you  think  you'd  better  risk  the  expense  of  a 
suit?" 

"  I  can  stand  it ;  and  don't  know  as  I  could  put  the 
money  to  any  better  use." 

"  Well,  I'm  sorry,"  said  Kishu  in  his  suavest  tones,  rising 
and  going  with  the  other  to  the  door.  "  But  you  know  '  a 
stubborn  man  maun  gang  his  gait.'  Good-by." 

They  shook  hands,  and  Hodnutt  smiled  as  he  greeted 
his  two  fellow-trustees  waiting  for  an  audience,  j 


CHAPTER   XXXI. 

GOD'S    ANOINTED    PHUE. 

"  REV.  G.  A.  PHUE." 

This  was  the  name  upon  the  card  that  lay  on  the  desk 
before  Mr.  Kishu  an  hour  after  Mr.  Hodnutt's  departure 
while  he  listened  to  the  words  of  the  tall,  erect  figure 
which  sat  opposite  him  clothed  in  clerical  garb,  whose 
voice  had  something  of  the  quaver  of  age  running  through 


346  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

the  monotone  which  is  apt  to  result  from  long  service  in 
the  pulpit. 

"  I  should  fail  in  my  duty  as  one  who  bears  the  com 
mission  of  an  expounder  of  God's  Word  if  I  neglected  to 
rebuke  such  astounding  heresy.  I  have  long  mourned 
over  the  doctrinal  degeneracy  of  the  Church.  We  seem 
to  have  lost  all  respect  for  creeds  and  confessions  of  faith. 
Ministers  are  silent  and  laymen  sneer  at  the  doctrines  of 
the  fathers.  No  one  seems  to  pay  any  heed  to  election 
and  reprobation  now.  Why,  my  dear  sir,  if  this  thing  goes 
on  a  little  farther  we  shall  have  people  questioning  the 
doctrine  of  damnation.  Even  now,  we  do  not  half  realize 
its  importance.  Infinite  and  eternal  punishment,  unre 
mitting  and  hopeless  wofulness — is  really  one  of  the  most 
important  dogmas  of  the  church.  I  can  almost  say  that 
the  Church  is  founded  on  it.  Any  one  can  believe  in 
Christ  and  heaven.  That  is  easy,  sweet,  and  comfortable ; 
it  is  no  strain  on  faith,  demands  no  trembling,  soul-crush 
ing  self-condemnation.  Any  one  can  be  a  good  man  and 
follow  Christ's  example  here  on  earth;  that  is  easy 
enough,  but  that  is  nothing,  absolutely  nothing,  chaff, 
vanity — worse  than  nothing! 

"  He  must  believe,  sir,  believe  that  '  the  wicked  shall  be 
cast  into  hell,1  and  that  the  wicked  are  those  who  do  not  be 
lieve.  He  must  believe  in  hell,  sir,  a  real  hell,  with  real 
fire,  exactly  like  that  we  have  on  earth  except  this — that 
it  will  not  consume,  though  it  will  torture.  You  have 
seen  asbestos  lying  in  the  fire  red  hot,  but  when  you  take 
it  out  it  is  unconsumed.  So  the  body  will  lie,  not  in 
metaphorical  fire  but  in  actual  flame — body  and  soul  will 
be  tortured  together  —  each  brimful  of  pain,  the  soul, 
sweating  in  its  innermost  pores  drops  of  blood  and  the 
body  suffused  with  agony — the  head  tormented  with  rack- 


GODS  ANOINTED  PHUE.  347 

ing  pains;  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets  with  sights  of 
woe ;  ears  tormented  with  sullen  moans  and  shrieks  of  tor 
tured  ghosts;  heart  beating  high  with  fever;  limbs  crack 
ing  like  martyrs  in  the  fire;  all  the  veins  a  road  for  the 
hot  feet  of  pain  to  travel  on ;  every  nerve  a  string  on  which 
the  devil  shall  play  the  endless  refrain  of  Hell's  unutter 
able  lament.*  This  is  what  it  means  to  believe,  sir. 

"  It  is  a  very  terrible  idea  no  doubt  at  first,  but  when  it 
once  gets  a  grip  on  the  conscience  it  is  very  consoling.  I  do 
not  see  how  any  one  could  wish  to  have  it  otherwise ;  I'm 
sure  I  could  not.  I  don't  believe  heaven  would  be  heaven 
to  me,  if  those  who  did  not  believe  were  allowed  to  come 
in.  I  expect  to  look  down  over  the  battlements  and  re 
buke  the  unbelievers  in  the*  fiery  lake  below — those  who 
have  mocked  at  me  and  my  Master  here  on  earth.  That 
will  be  one  of  the  joys  of  the  redeemed.  I  don't  expect 
to  feel  any  pity  for  them,  either.  I  shall  just  say  to  them, 
'  Why  didn't  you  believe?  I  warned  you — I,  G.  A.  Phue — 
the  Lord's  humble  and  unworthy  servant.  I  cried  unto 
you  and  you  would  not  hear.  You  went  after  strange 

*  When  these  chapters  were  published  serially,  some  objection  was 
made  to  the  character  of  Rev.  G.  A.  Phue.  These  objections  were  : 
First,  that  the  modern  trial  for  heresy  has  none  of  the  spirit  of  per 
secution  about  it  ;  second,  that  no  one  really  holds  at  this  time  the 
view  of  Christianity  ascribed  to  Mr.  Phue,  at  least  no  one  of  intelli 
gence,  and  least  of  all  a  minister.  The  author  does  not  care  to  dis 
cuss  either  question.  Mr.  Phue  was  drawn  as  a  survivor — a  type  not 
yet  extinct— of  which  the  author  has  personally  known  more  than  one 
individual.  For  some  of  the  qualities  of  this  type  he  even  confesses 
a  distinct  fondness.  He  begs  to  say,  however,  that  the  lurid  picture 
of  hell,  which  is  put  into  the  mouth  of  the  fervid  champion  of  literal- 
ness,  has  not  even  the  merit  of  originality,  having  been  taken  bodily 
from  the  writings  of  one  of  the  most  distinguished  living  divines. 
The  inquiring  reader  will  find  it,  and  more  of  the  same  sort,  in 
Sermons  of  Rev.  C.  H.  Spurg^on,  Second  Series,  No.  17,  p.  275. 


348  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

gods  and  comfortable  beliefs.  (  You  tried  to  climb  up  to 
heaven  on  a  ladder  of  good  works.  You  thought  if  you 
did  good  to  others,  God  would  overlook  your  doubt  and 
unbelief  in  regard  to  the  mysterious  things  beyond.  I 
told  you  it  was  a  vain  delusion,  but  you  would  not  heed.' 

"  That's  what  I  shall  say,  Brother  Kishu.  I've  been  a 
martyr  to  the  cause  of  Christ  here  below.  My  blessed 
mother  who  is  looking  down  from  heaven  upon  us  now, 
consecrated  me  to  the  work  of  God  in  my  earliest  mo 
ment.  Even  while  yet  unborn,  she  devoted  me  to  the 
work  of  proclaiming  God's  will  to  men.  With  a  prayerful 
and  trusting  heart,  she  gave  me  a  name  that  of  itself  was 
a  vow  of  sanctification,  though  the  vain  and  sinful  mock 
at  it.  As  if  by  divine  direction,  she  put  the  seal  of  elec 
tion  on  the  brow  of  her  unborn  babe ;  inspired  by  the 
Holy  Ghost  I  do  not  doubt,  and  fearing  the  worst,  she 
made  my  father  promise  that  in  case  of  her  death  the  child 
should  be  named  '  God's  Anointed.'  As  my  father's  name 
was  Phue,  you  see,  I  was,  so  to  speak,  born  into  the  Lord's 
family — designated  from  birth  as  one  of  them  that  shall 
be  saved — God's  Anointed  Phue! 

"And  I  have  tried  to  live  up  to  the  name,  sir.  I  have 
kept  myself  unspotted  from  the  world  and  have  been  in 
stant  in  season  and  out  of  season,  reproving  them  that  did 
not  believe.  But  the  Church  has  treated  me  scandalously, 
sir.  I  say  it  regretfully,  but  it  is  nothing  more  than  the 
truth.  Though  I  have  fought  the  good  fight  and  kept  the 
faith,  studying  diligently  the  truth  as  it  was  delivered  to 
the  saints,  I  have  been  mocked  and  jeered  at  even  by 
professing  Christians.  The  door  of  one  pulpit  after  an 
other  has  been  closed  in  my  face,  only  to  be  opened  to 
some  young  whipper-snapper  who  knows  more  about  the 
fashions  than  about  Christian  doctrine.  I  have  been  com- 


GOD'S  ANOINTED  PHUE.  349 

pelled  to  enter  the  mission  field,  home-mission  work,  sir, 
I,  who  was  ordained  to  the  ministry  forty  years  ago,  and 
studied  at  the  feet  of  our  Gamaliels!  More  than  once, 
indeed,  I  have  been  forced  to  earn  my  daily  bread  by  the 
labor  of  these  hands." 

The  speaker  held  out  a  pair  of  hands  which  bore  un 
mistakable  marks  of  toil,  and  gazed  piteously  at  them  as 
he  spoke. 

"  My  dear  friend,"  said  Mr.  Kishu,  commiseratingly, 
"  you  do  not  know  how  your  words  hurt  me.  Why  did  you 
not  come  to  me?" 

"  It  does  not  beseem  the  servant  of  the  Lord  to  beg  his 
bread,"  said  the  old  man  with  pathetic  dignity.  "  I  am  a 
laborer  in  his  vineyard,  and  if  he  does  not  send  me  aid  I 
will  work,  as  Paul  did  at  his  calling ;  but  I  will  not  degrade 
my  Master's  service  by  asking  alms  of  any  man." 

"  Dear  me,"  said  Mr.  Kishu, "  I  never  dreamed  of  such 
a  thing;  you  must  allow  me  to  relieve  your  necessities." 

"  I  have  been  called  of  God  through  ygu,"  was  the 
solemn  reply,  "  to  undertake  a  new  work  for  the  Church, 
and  it  is  fitting  that  his  servants  should  reward  me  in 
such  measure  as  they  may  deem  proper.  Thank  God,  I 
have  kept  myself  -clean ;  there  is  not  a  blot  on  my  cre 
dentials,  and  I  am  ready  for  this  new  duty  the  Lord  has 
cast  upon  me.  This  young  man  Eastman  has  been  very 
kind  to  me,  though  he  has  obtruded  himself  into  a  place 
which,  by  lack  of  experience  and  thorough  preparation, 
he  is  not  well  fitted  to  occupy.  But  that  is  not  his  fault. 
The  Church  has  come  to  worship  adolescence  in  these 
latter  days.  That  is  why  it  is  in  peril  now.  I  have  only 
the  kindest  feeling  toward  the  young  man,  Mr.  Kishu; 
but  the  safety  of  the  Church  is  above  all  earthly  ties.  If 
he  were  my  brgther,  flesh  of  my  flesh,  and  bone  of  my 


350  MURVALE  EASTMAN". 

bone,  I  would  not  hesitate,  I  would  ask,  implore,  nay,  I 
would  command  the  Church,  in  the  name  of  the  Most  High 
to  cast  him  forth  from  her  borders  as  an  unclean  thing — 
a  leper  whose  tetrous  spots  threaten  every  soul  that  looks 
upon  them." 

"You  think  he  is  not  exactly  orthodox,  then?  " 

"  Orthodox!  "  exclaimed  the  unconscious  bigot.  "  With 
this  in  my  hand,  sir,  I  would  engage  to  hale  the  brightest 
man  in  any  pulpit  beyond  the  fellowship  of  any  orthodox 
communion." 

He  took  from  his  hat  and  flourished  the  type-written 
report  of  the  meeting  at  which  the  club  of  Christian  So 
cialists  was  organized,  as  he  spoke, 

"  You  think  there  is  no  doubt  about  that? '' 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world." 

"But  how,  in  what  respect?  My  lawyer  says  he  has 
carefully  kept  within  the  landmarks,  and  has  traversed  no 
specific  doctrine  of  the  church." 

"  Not  expressly,  perhaps ;  but  in  spirit,  unquestionably. 
Is  he  not  openly  inviting  sinners  to  engage  in  the  Lord's 
work  without  purification  or  redemption,  inviting  them  to 
.  •  put  their  unholy  hands  on  the  Ark  of  the  Covenant?  The 
Lord  does  not  need  the  help  of  sinners.  When  they  are 
penitent  and  redeemed  he  permits  them  to  engage  in  his 
service.  To  fling  open  the  doors  of  church-work  to 
unredeemed,  the  mocker  and  the  profligate,  is  to  throw 
down  the  walls  of  Zion  and  invite  the  followers  of  Baal  to 
enter  and  ravage  her  borders." 

"You  intend  to  bring  the  matter  to  the  attention  of  the 
Association,  I  presume?" 

"  At  its  very  next  meeting,  sir." 

"  Would  it  not  be  better  to  counsel  with  some  of  the 
members,  some  of  the  leading  and  influential  ones?" 


GOD'S  ANOINTED  PHUE.  351 

"  I  need  no  assistance,  sir/'  said  the  old  man  with  an 
air  of  offended  dignity.  "  I  am  weak  and  old,  and  the 
Church  passes  by  me  in  scorn ;  but  in  the  Lord's  cause, 
battling  for  the  safety  of  Zion  and  the  preservation 
of  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints,  I  am  armed  in 
triple  mail  of  proof.  I  shall  assail  him  point-blank,  face 
to  face,  myself;  I  shall  show  his  errors  and  drive  him  out 
of  the  fold  whose  salvation  he  endangers." 

"  I  trust  you  may,  sir,'-  said  Mr.  Kishu  as  he  handed 
him  a  check,  which  the  old  man  thrust  carelessly  into  his 
vest-pocket  without  once  glancing  at  the  amount. 

"  Have  no  fear;  it  is  an  unpleasant  duty,  but  it  will  be 
faithfully  performed." 

The  Rev.  G.  A.  Phue — in  his  young  days  he  had  writ 
ten  out  the  first  names  in  full,  and  his  mother  had  always 
(-.ailed  him  in  her  piping,  sharp  New  England  voice, 
"  God'sanynted,"  as  if  it  had  been  a  single  word — was  a 
minister  without  a  church,  a  shepherd  without  a  flock.  In 
fact,  he  was  a  shepherd  who  frightened  the  lambs  and  was 
apt  to  make  even  the  toughest  of  the  wethers  intract 
able  and  belligerent.  A  lean  and  eager  face,  pale  and 
deep-lined,  with  that  softness  which  told  that  its  severity 
was  without  hypocrisy  or  greed,  and  his  zeal  only  the  out 
come  of  a  faith  which  knew  no  doubt,  told  the  story  of 
his  life  even  better  than  words  could  phrase  it.  His 
cheeks  were  cleanly  shaven,  his  high,  severe  brow  with  the 
blue  veins  showing  through  the  transparent  skin,  the  deep- 
set,  blue  eyes,  the  clean-cut,  sharp-pointed  nose,  thin  lips 
and  square  chin,  told  of  one  to  whose  soul-life  doubt  had 
been  a  stranger;  who  being  right  would  never  falter,  and 
who  starting  wrong  would  never  look  backward  to  correct 
his  reckoning,  though  he  should  see  the  breakers  of  de 
struction  straight  ahead.  Error  was  impossible  with  him 


352  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

because  he  knew  exactly  what  the  Lord's  will  was  in  re 
gard  to  any  specific  matter.  This  was  not  arrogance,  but 
faith.  .With  him  to  question  was  to  deny;  to  doubt  was 
not  merely  to  be  damned,  but  to  deserve  damnation.  The 
rule  he  applied  to  others  he  accepted  unhesitatingly  for 
himself. 

His  frayed  linen,  shiny  coat  closely  buttoned  around 
his  slender  form,  even  the  worn,  old-fashioned  hat  upon 
the  desk  beside  him,  told  of  an  asceticism  not  less  exact 
ing  and  hardly  less  visionary  than  that  of  the  searcher  for 
Nirvana.  Whence  he  came,  what  was  his  genealogy,  by 
what  mysterious  evolution  that  sad,  lovely,  proud,  humbled, 
blue-blooded,  thin  skinned,  tender-hearted,  unpitying  re 
ligionist  turned  up  on  the  shores  of  America  and  survived 
until  the  last  quarter  of  the  nineteenth  century,  it  would 
be  hard  to  tell.  Yet  it  is  a  type  not  so  very  rare,  and 
which,  with  all  its  faults,  we  should  dislike  to  class  with  the 
dodo  as  extinct.  Even  the  bigot  serves  his  purpose,  often 
an  important  one  too,  in  the  history  of  human  progress. 

He  bowed  with  quiet  dignity  as  he  avouched  his  own 
faithfulness,  and  WTilton  Kishu  knew  that  he  had  effectu 
ally  enlisted  the  services  of  this  simple-minded  zealot 
whose  life  had  been  devoted  to  the  pursuit  of  theologic 
error,  whose  tongue  and  pen,  despite  his  unpopularity  in 
the  pulpit,  were  still  a  power  in  his  denomination. 

"  By  the  way,"  continued  Dr.  Phue,  as  he  smoothed 
down  the  thin,  white  hair  which  clung  about  his  polished 
forehead  and  taking  out  his  glasses  adjusted  them  to  his 
nose,  "  I  suppose  there  is  no  doubt  about  the  accuracy  of 
this  report  of  last  night's  meeting." 

"  Not  the  least  in  the  world.  Mr.  Lampson  is  one  of 
the  most  reliable  and  capable  of  stenographers/' 

"  I  recognize  the  correctness  of  the  report  in  the  main/' 


GOD'S  ANOINTED  PffUE. 


353 


said  the  old  man,  "  but — I  may  have  nodded  for  a  moment 
— but  really  I  do  not  recognize  a  portion  of  this  record. 
I  should  not  like  to  go  before  the  Association  with  any 
thing  I  could  not  verify." 

"  What  is  it  you  are  in  doubt  about?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  am  exactly  in  doubt,  but  I  do 
not  remember  this  portion  of  Brother  Eastman's  address 
on  that  occasion.  I  was  present,  sir,  as  it  was  my  duty  to 
be  as  a  watchman  in  Zion.  I  must  say  I  was  much 
moved  by  what  he  said.  For  the  time,  I  am  not  sure  I 
did  not  wish  his  views  might  be  correct.  But  though  I 
listened  carefully  I  did  not  observe  that  he  made  use  of 
these  words  which  your  stenographer  has  put  into  his 
mouth: 

" '  I  beg  leave  to  conclude  my  remarks  with  an  extract 
from  the  Russian  of  Worsoff,  that  weirdly  realistic  poet  of 
to-day's  woes  and  to-morrow's  possibilities,  which  he  en 
titles,— 

TRUTH. 
(BY  j.  H.  T.) 

There  dwelt  a  maiden  by  a  stream, 
A  flowing  stream  that  sang  and  purled, 
Till  all  the  music  in  the  world, 

Seemed  but  a  vague  and  empty  dream. 

And  she  was  wondrous  fair  to  tell ; 

For  countless  subtle  threads  of  thought, 

Into  her  perfect  being  wrought, 
Stole  on  the  senses  like  a  spell. 

"  It  is  the  stream,"  the  Wise  men  said, 
"  Whose  music  makes  the  damsel  fair ; 

And  curls  the  ripples  of  her  hair, 
And  wakes  the  rhythm  of  her  tread." 


354  MURVALE    f-:,\STMA\. 

"  It  is  the  maid,"  the  children  said, 
"  Whose  beauty  makes  the  waters  purl, 

And  leap  and  laugh  and  dance  and  whirl, 
And  ripple  in  their  mossy  bed." 

"What  does  it  all  mean?"  asked  Kishu  wonderingly. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  am  exactly  ready  to  answer  that 
question,"  answered  Dr.  Phue,  cautiously.  "  It  is  not  per 
haps  so  very  important  what  it  means  or  whether  it  means 
anything.  It  does  not  seem  so  very  reprehensible  in 
itself.  But  this  is  the  point:  who  is  Worsoff?" 

"Worse  off?"  asked  Kishu. 

"  The  author — the  man  who  wrote  those  lines." 

"  I  am  sure  I  don't  know." 

"  That  is  the  very  thing ;  neither  does  anybody  else 
I've  been  through  all  the  libraries  and  inquired  this  morn 
ing  of  every  one  likely  to  know,  and  I  am  satisfied  there 
is  no  such  man  and  never  has  been." 

"Well,  what  of  that?" 

"What  of  it?  Well,  I  thought  I  would  see  about  this 
Worsoff — what  he'd  written;  it  might  be  worth  while,  in 
the  controversy  before  the  Association,  to  know  what  sort 
of  books  the  man  was  reading." 

"  I  see,"  rejoined  Kishu  with  an  interested  look  upon 
his  face. 

"  But  if  there  never  was  any  such  writer,  why  then," 
said  the  old  man,  "  then  it  becomes  an  untruth — a  false 
hood — don't  you  see?  " 

"  Ah,  yes,"  said  Mr.  Kishu,  while  his  little  eyes  twinkled 
gleefully.  "  It  gives  you  a  new  string  to  your  bow:  if  you 
can't  convict  him  of  heresy,  you  catch  him  for  lying! 
Well,  you  can  count  on  Lampson.  He'll  swear  to  what 
he  has  written." 

"  Then   the  Lord    has  delivered   the    enemy  into   my 


COD'S  ANOINTED   PHUE.  355 

hands,"  said  the  divine,  with  an  upward  glance  and  a  warm 
flush  upon  his  cheeks. 

The  look  of  exultation  upon  the  minister's  face  was  un 
mistakable.  He  had  engaged  in  the  hunt  after  evil  in 
the  conduct  of  the  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden 
Lilies,  and  counted  everything  fair  in  the  warfare  against 
him. 

Mr.  Kishu  realized  this  at  once  and  said  in  the  most 
appreciative  tones: 

"  Really,  Mr.  Phue,  your  discernment  amazes  me. 
Should  the  pulpit  of  the  Golden  Lilies  ever  again  be  va 
cant,  as  I  trust  it  soon  may  be,  we  shall  know  where  to 
look  for  a  man  to  fill  it  with  honor." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Brother  Kishu,"  said  the  other, 
"  but  it  would  not  be  proper  for  me  to  listen  to  any  inti 
mation  of  that  sort  under  the  present  circumstances.  I 
will  do  my  duty  to  the  Church,  sir,  not  because  it  is  for  my 
interest,  but  because  it  is  my  duty.'1'1 

He  took  his  rusty  hat  from  the  table,  bowed  with  grave 
dignity  and  departed,  thoroughly  satisfied  with  the  purity 
of  his  purpose  and  the  righteousness  of  the  cause  he  had 
espoused.  He  would  have  made  a  splendid  Chief  In 
quisitor — all  the  better,  indeed,  that  his  nature  had  in  it 
not  a  single  spark  of  injustice  or  cruelty.  He  was  fair 
and  honest  in  purpose,  and  would  have  scorned  to  take 
what  he  deemed  an  undue  advantage.  Even  as  he  walked 
along  the  street,  exulting  in  the  triumph  that  awaited  him, 
it  occurred  to  him  that  in  justice  he  ought  to  give  the 
young  minister  warning  of  the  bolt  that  was  so  soon  to  be 
launched  against  him,  and  he  set  out  at  once  in  quest  of 
his  proposed  victim. 


356  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 


CHAPTER   XXXII. 

ULTRA    VIRES. 

"  I  SHOULD  say  you  would  be  able  to  recover  the  church 
under  the  terms  of  the  deed,  Mr.  Kishu;  whether  it  is 
wise  for  you  to  attempt  it  or  not  is  for  you  to  determine. 
You  understand  of  course,  that  it  would — well — raise  a 
storm?" 

"Among  the  'Socialists,'  you  mean?1*1 

"  I  should  hardly  like  to  define  the  limits  of  disapproval." 

"  But  you  don't  think  any  sensible  people  will  take  up 
this  craze,  Mr.  Speedwell?" 

"  Why,  a  great  many  sensible  people  have  already  taken 
it  up ;  there's  no  denying  that." 

"  Whom  do  you  mean?  " 

"  Well,  there's  the  young  minister  in  the  first  place — 
one  of  the  most  eminently  sensible  men  I  ever  knew.  Not 
a  bit  of  nonsense  about  him;  doesn't  pretend  to  know 
what  ought  to  be  done,  but  is  sure  something — probably 
a  good  many  things — ought  to  be  attempted  and  that  the 
Church  should  consolidate,  unify,  and  stimulate  the  forces 
that  make  for  human  betterment.  That's  the  strength  of 
his  position.  You  cannot  attack  or  denounce  him.  If  he 
proposed  a  specific  remedy,  one  could  pick  flaws  in  it, 
don't  you  see?  But  there  is  no  denying  the  evils  which 
so  many  of  our  people  suffer  and  every  man  knows  to 
exist.  He  only  insists  that  the  Church,  which  represents 
the  religious  force  in  society,  should  stimulate  the  social, 


ULTRA    VIRES.  357 

economic,  and  political  forces  to  devise  and  adopt  meas 
ures  that  will  steadily  counteract  these  evils,  and  should 
itself  lead,  inspire,  and  promulgate  thought  upon  this  sub 
ject.  It  is  a  tremendously  strong  position,  Mr.  Kishu. 
One  may  antagonize  the  doctrine  of  a  single-tax  or  of 
'nationalism,'  as  it  is  called,  as  a  remedy  for  these 
things,  on  the  ground  that  they  are  .impracticable,  absurd, 
and  all  that,  you  know.  But  you  can't  say  it  is  absurd 
to  try  and  keep  on  trying  to  find  remedies  for  admitted 
evils;  and  if  the  Church  takes  the  position  that  it  is  her 
duty  to  aid  in  such  works  without  seeking  to  make  them 
tributary  to  her  own  special  interests,  it  will  greatly 
strengthen  both  the  Church  and  the  movement." 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  most  exalted  idea  of  this  young 
man.  One  would  think  you  considered  him  a  sort  of 
modern  Luther,"  said  Kishu,  irritably. 

"Not  at  all;  he  don't  like  to  fight  and  has  no  stomach 
for  controversy.  He  is  much  more  like  Wesley,  who, 
though  not  so  belligerent,  was  a  much  abler  strategist  as 
well  as  a  better  tactician  than  Luther.  The  spread  of 
Luther's  ideas,  humanly  speaking,  was  mainly  due  to  the 
political  conditions  of  his  time.  He  antagonized  irre 
parably  the  body  whose  evils  he  sought  to  correct. 
Wesley,  with  a  finer  skill  and  wiser  forecast,  took  from  the 
organization  whose  inefficiency  he  perceived  an  element 
she  could  neither  benefit  nor  utilize,  and  not  only  created 
out  of  that  waste  material  a  greater  religious  force 
than  the  parent  body,  but  did  it  without  bloodshed,  per 
secution,  discrediting  the  source  from  which  they  came,  or 
making  reconciliation  impossible.  He  was  a  religious 
diplomatist  of  the  finest  quality  as  well  as  a  reformer  of 
the  most  undoubted  sincerity.  The  two  qualities  are  sel 
dom  united.  The  reformer  generally  sits  down  and 


358  M UK  VALE  EASTMAN. 

howls  about  something  that  is  out  of  gear,  and  the  diplo 
matist  usually  employs  his  faculty  of  swaying  men  for  his 
own  advantage  rather  than  for  the  common  welfare.  It  is 
only  a  man  who  is  willing  to  forget  himself  for  the  sake  of 
an  idea — to  consider  the  common  good  rather  than  his 
own  interests — who  becomes  a  successful  reformer. 
Wesley  had  the  sagacity  to  know  that  if  his  ideas  were  to 
permanently  benefit  mankind,  he  must  devise  a  specific 
mechanism  especially  adapted  to  perpetuate  and  apply 
them.  He  knew,  too,  that  this  must  be  of  a  character 
not  likely  to  be  imitated  or  adopted  by  the  parent  body, 
though  not  be  seriously  distinguished  from  it  in  doctrine. 
It  was  not  the  teachings  of  the  English  Church  he  repro 
bated,  but  its  practices;  not  doctrines,  but  methods.  The 
result  was  well  named:  Methodism.  He  was  the  inventor 
not  of  a  new  faith,  but  of  a  new  religious  method,  which 
was  well  adapted  to  its  time." 

"  You  think  this  young  man,  Eastman,  will  be  a  second 
Wesley,  then?" 

"  Not  at  all.  Nature  never  duplicates  her  products, 
however  persistently  she  may  adhere  to  types.  And  by 
as  much  as  Wesley  differed  from  Luther,  or  Calvin  from 
Savonarola,  by  just  so  much  will  the  man  who  stirs  mod 
ern  Christianity  to  new  duties  and  greater  efficacy  differ 
from  Wesley.  He  will  be  like  him  in  one  thing,  however; 
he  will  not  seek  to  destroy,  but  to  build  up.  He  will  not 
seek  to  change  the  Church's  object  or  supplant  its  doc 
trines.  He  may  not  even  seek  to  modify  its  methods. 
He  will  simply  step  beyond  the  Church  and  devise  new 
machinery  which  will  work  in  harmony  with  it,  supple 
mentary  or  perhaps  complementary  of  it,  in  improving 
human  conditions  and  promoting  the  extension  and  evo 
lution  of  the  Christian  idea,  the  assertion  of  the  funda- 


ULTRA    riRKS.  359 

mental  principle  of  Christianity  as  a  force  in  human  life. 
Whether  Eastman  will  do  this  or  not  it  is  too  soon  to  say. 
It  is  a  dizzy  thing  to  expect.  It  will  be  done  before 
long,  there  is  no  doubt  about  that;  and  it  will  be  a  man 
of  this  very  type  who  will  do  it — bold,  but  not  aggressive, 
suggestive  rather  than  inventive,  pliable  and  persistent 
rather  than  combative.  His  power  will  lie  not  so  much  in 
original  investigation  as  in  the  utilization  of  other  men's 
ideas.  He  will  be  a  mechanical  inventor  rather  than  a 
philosophical  investigator.'1 

"You  seem  very  confident  about  the  matter." 
"  It  is  a  matter  in  regard  to  which  one  well  may  be  con 
fident.  What  has  been  the  intellectual  training  of  the 
past  century?  Methodical  purely — the  adaptation  of 
means  to  ends — the  perfection  of  measures  by  which  re 
sults  may  be  accomplished.  In  mechanics,  in  govern 
ment,  in  science,  the  constant  inquiry  has  been, '  How  may 
specific  results  be  obtained?'  Invention,  adaptability  of 
means  to  ends,  has  become  almost  an  instinct  with  us. 

"  Now  we  know  that  certain  specific  evils  exist  and  are 
growing  daily  more  onerous  and  oppressive,  and  we  know 
this  tendency  toward  remedial  measures  has  been  culti 
vated  until  every  boy  is  an  inventor.  We  know,  too,  that 
the  Church  represents  a  great  mass  of  moral  sentiment 
and  desire  for  human  welfare  which  has  been  separated  by 
certain  tendencies  from  another  mass  of  sentiment 
equally  desirous  of  improving  human  conditions,  but  not 
seeking  them  by  the  same  methods,  nor  affected  by  the 
same  ultimate  considerations.  The  unification,  welding, 
consolidation  of  these  forces  is  the  most  important  need 
of  humanity  to-day,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  a  way  to  do 
it  will  soon  be  discovered.  It  is  merely  an  invention  that 
one  can  predict,  because  the  conditions  for  it  are  evidently 


360  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

ripe.  It  is  possible  and  it  is  necessary.  The  man  who 
finds  it  will  be  the  greatest  inventor  of  the  age ;  he  will 
also  be  the  greatest  reformer:  yet  it  is  quite  possible  that 
he  will  not  be  recognized  as  either  for  some  generations, 
at  least,  since  what  he  will  accomplish  will  be  only  a  har 
monization  of  existing  forces.  He  will  furnish  a  solvent 
which  will  combine  and  utilize  elements  hitherto  hostile 
and  incongruous." 

"And  you  expect  Eastman  to  do  this?" 

"Well,  he  hasn't  made  many  mistakes  thus  far.  He 
has  united  more  antipathetic  forces  than  any  man  I  have 
ever  known,  with  less  apparent  effort.  Look  at  Metziger 
and  Searle  and  Townley — to  say  nothing  of  the  others — 
sitting  cheek  by  jowl  together — each  having  his  own  no 
tions,  and  being  as  flint  and  steel  to  each  other,  but  sub 
mitting  to  this  young  man's  guidance,  though  he  doesn't 
seem  to  have  any  idea  of  his  own,  except  that  something 
should  be  done,  and  that  the  only  way  to  do  it  is  to  at 
tempt  only  what  they  can  all  pull  together  to  accomplish. 
If  you  think  of  it,  you  will  see  that  is  exactly  the  position 
Washington  occupied  in  the  movement  for  the  independ 
ence  of  the  colonies,  which  was  really  not  half  so  import 
ant  a  matter  as  the  overthrow  of  feudalism',  hereditary 
privilege,  which  has  been  deemed  only  an  incident  of  it. 
He  originated  little,  and  the  most  of  what  he  did  originate 
was  of  little  value;  but  he  had  some  rare  power  of  re 
pressing  antagonisms  and  making  the  most  hostile  ele 
ments  work  harmoniously  together  to  advance  a  common 
end." 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  had  such  philosophic  views.  I  shall 
expect  to  see  you  turn  reformer  or  philanthropist  yet!" 
sneered  Kishu. 

"  You  will  be  disappointed,  then,"  said  the  lawyer  with 


ULTRA     VIRES.  361 

a  quiet  smile.  "  I  study  humanity  for  my  own  advantage, 
not  for  the  benefit  of  the  race.  I  live  solely  on  others 
and  study  my  prey  that  I  may  not  fail  to  take  it.  I  have 
no  malice  against  others,  but  I  love  myself  better  than 
anybody  else !  " 

"  You  would  take  a  fee  against  me  just  as  soon  as  for 
me,  I  suppose?'' 

"Well,  that  depends;  you  are  an  old  client." 

"  But  you  would  not  care  whether  I  won  or  lost?  " 

"  I  care  a  great  deal  whether  /win  or  lose." 

"  But  for  myself  I  mean." 

"  Oh,  you  must  look  out  for  that.  I  will  tell  you  the 
probability  and  you  must  decide  whether  you  will  take 
the  chances  or  not." 

"  And  in  this  case?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  likely  to  win  the  church,  and  wish  the 
devil  would  take  it  off  your  hands  the  next  minute." 

"  You  haven't  joined  the  Christian  Socialists,  have 
you?"  asked  Kishu  with  an  uneasy  laugh. 

"  Not  yet,"  said  the  well-dressed  lawyer,  flecking  from 
his  sleeve  a  speck  of  dust  with  the  glove  he  held  in  his 
hand;  "not  yet,  sir;  being  your  counsel,  I  thought  it 
would  not  be  advisable.  As  soon  as  your  case  is  over,  I 
shall,  however.1' 

"You  will!" 

"Nothing  less." 

"  What  object  can  you  have  in  doing  so?  " 

"  Did  you  ever  know  me  to  be  on  the  losing  side — po 
litically,  I  mean — or  late  in  getting  on  the  winning  one?" 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  ever  did." 

"  Just  so ;  I  don't  remember  that  I  ever  saw  myself  in 
that  predicament  either." 

"  And  you  think " 


362  MTRVALE   EAST  MAX. 

"I  think  if  you  are  going  on  with  this  suit  I  had  better 
go  and  make  out  the  papers." 

"Of  course  I  am  going  on  with  it.'" 

"Very  well;  the  writs  shall  be  served  before  night. 
Good-day." 

The  sleek,  self-seeking  lawyer  bowed  himself  out  with 
a  smile.  Mr.  Kishu  was  not  altogether  satisfied  with  the 
result  of  the  day's  calls. 


CHAPTER   XXXIII. 

BEHOLD  A  PERFECT  AND  AN  UPRIGHT  MAN! 

WILTON  KISHU  felt  depressed  and  despondent  after 
the  departure  of  his  attorney.  He  knew  Richard  Speed 
well  for  a  hard,  selfish,  "  practical  "  man  of  the  world,  who 
did  not  profess  to  be  anything  else.  He  regarded  other 
men  as  a  wolf  regards  a  lamb,  not  malevolently — a  wolf 
has  no  malevolence  against  the  innocent  he  destroys — but 
simply  as  his  natural  prey.  He  was  of  course  a  civilized 
wolf;  he  did  not  worry  or  mangle  those  whom  he  preyed 
upon,  nor  frighten  the  rest  of  the  flock.  Sometimes  he 
hunted  on  his  own  account  and  sometimes  he  helped 
other  wolves  to  secure  their  prey.  He  did  it  openly  and 
without  any  pretense  of  regard  for  the  feelings  of  the 
lambs.  He  did  only  what  the  law  allows.  In  a  legal 
sense  he  was  scrupulously  honest.  He  paid  every  man 
what  he  owed  on  the  day  it  was  due  and  exacted  a  like 
promptitude  for  himself  and  his  clients.  He  "  banked  " 
on  his  promptness  and  unrelenting  severity.  He  repre 
sented  always  his  own  clients,  not  another's.  If  the  debtor 
was  ruined  from  lack  of  a  little  delay,  it  was  not  his  fault. 


BEHOLD  A  PERFECT  AND  AN  UPRIGHT  MAN!   363 

If  the  law  chose  to  make  another  pauper,  it  was  not  his 
business.  He  was  willing  to  shield  crime  or  conceal  fraud 
as  long  as  fraud  or  crime  were  able  and  willing  to  pay; 
beyond  that  point  he  never  went.  He  did  nothing  from 
sympathy  or  affection,  and  did  not  pretend  to.  He  was  a 
"practical"  man,  who  "toiled  not,  neither  did  he  spin;" 
but  took  advantage  of  the  law's  opportunities,  as  he  had 
a  "right  "  to  do.  He  was  scrupulously  faithful  to  a  client 
as  long  as  he  remained  his  client;  after  that  he  had  no 
use  for  him,  and  he  terminated  that  relation  whenever  he 
thought  it  to  his  own  interest  to  do  so.  Of  course,  he 
never  withdrew  from  a  client's  service  pendente  life,  for  he 
was  a  very  high-toned  practitioner;  but  he  never  under 
took  the  cause  of  one  predestined  to  defeat  nor  felt  it  any 
part  of  his  duty  to  soften  disaster  to  one  who  suffered 
undeservedly. 

Mr.  Speedwell  had  been  Wilton  Kishu's  attorney  for 
many  years,  ^ver  since  the  days  of  his  prosperity  began ; 
indeed,  Mr.  Kishu  counted  it  an  evidence  of  his  own  sa 
gacity  that  he  had  been  one  of  the  first  to  recognize  and 
appreciate  the  merits  of  the  young  and  rising  attorney. 
It  is  true,  he  had  not  much  need  for  his  aid  so  far  as  liti 
gation  was  concerned.  He  always  avoided  that ;  but  he 
had  relied  upon  the  lawyer's  advice  in  order  to  avoid  it, 
and  had  never  undertaken  any  risk  which  Speedwell  had 
advised  him  was  "hazardous  or  extra-hazardous,"  as  in 
surance  men  phrase  it. 

The  two  great  pillars  of  his  fortune  had  rested  on  his 
attorney's  advice.  He  had  bought  out  a  partner  who 
was  weak  and  self-indulgent,  but  whose  brilliant  qualities 
had  contributed,  even  more  than  Kishu's  solid  ones,  to  the 
building  up  the  business  of  the  partnership;  indeed,  it 
could  not  have  been  established  without  him.  But,  once 


364  Mt-RVALE   KASTMAX. 

established,  the  more  thrifty  partner  not  only  bewailed 
his  associate's  weakness,  but  threatened  his  remissness. 
Once,  after  a  deep  debauch,  amid  the  gloom  and  despond 
ency  resulting  therefrom,  the  partner  had  offered  to  sell 
out.  He  did  not  know  the  value  of  what  he  proposed  to 
dispose  of  as  well  as  Mr.  Kishu ;  but  the  latter  warily  de 
pressed  him  still  more  by  dwelling  on  its  contingencies 
and  liabilities.  The  result  was — it  is  not  pleasant  to  tell, 
but  it  was  lawful,  and  the  best  man  cannot  help  his  advan 
tage  from  another's  weakness.  Mr.  Kishu's  partner  was 
not  drunk  when  he  signed  the  contract  of  sale ;  there  were 
plenty  of  witnesses  to  that.  Mr.  Speedwell,  who  drew  the 
papers,  declared  that  he  had  never  seen  a  more  completely 
sober  man  in  his  life.  It  was  true,  too,  but  not  the  whole 
truth.  The  brain,  the  soul,  had  not  yet  recovered  from 
the  effects  of  the  debauch ;  the  man  was  not  in  a  normal 
condition.  His  brain  was  diseased;  he  was  not  then  ca 
pable  of  appreciating  values  or  estimating  prospects. 

No  matter;  before  the  sun  went  down  Mr.  Kishu  was 
the  owner;  the  former  partner  an  employe.  A  few 
months  afterward  he  died  in  a  debauch — "died  in  his 
sins,"  Mr.  Kishu  declared  with  solemn  horror.  He  was 
very  kind  to  the  bereft  and  impoverished  family,  and  was 
highly  commended  by  all  good  people  for  his  charity  and 
by  all  knowing  ones  for  his  sagacity.  Mr.  Speedwell  had 
assured  him  that  the  transaction  was  "perfectly  legal," 
and  his  opinion  proved  correct.  This  was  Mr.  Kishu's 
first  great  venture. 

The  next  one  was  made  also  on  his  attorney's  advice ; 
but  in  this  case  the  lawyer's  opinion  had  not  been  so  pos 
itive. 

"  It  is  possible  that  there  may  be  an  heir  and  possible 
that  he  may  not  be  estopped.  The  question  is  not  clear 


BEHOLD  A  PERFE  C  T  A  ND  A  N  UP  RIG  II T  MA  A'!    365 

of  doubt  and  has  never  been  decided ;  but  if  an  heir  should 
appear,  he  will  probably  be  poor;  no  capitalist  would  be 
likely  to  back  him,  and  I  think  you  are  perfectly  safe  in 
the  course  you  propose.  The  legal  and  natural  chances 
are  overwhelmingly  in  favor  of  this  view."  Wilton  Kishu 
had  acted  on  this  opinion ;  had  bought  the  "  Fiat-iron 
Tract,"  and  secured  options  on  other  property  in  that 
vicinity.  By  the  rapid  enhancement  of  values  in  the 
neighborhood,  he  had  become  one  of  the  very  rich  men 
of  the  city. 

The  former  of  these  transactions  had  troubled  Mr. 
Kishu  a  good  deal;  the  attorney  had  never  been  quite 
clear  about  the  latter.  Some  curious  feeling  of  doing  res 
titution  for  the  former,  had  influenced  Mr.  Kishu  when 
he  filled  out  the  strangely  liberal  check  for  his  stenog 
rapher  that  morning.  He  could  not  understand  it  him 
self.  The  partner's  name  had  not  been  Lampson.  Why 
should  he  make  restitution  to  another?  He  began  already 
to  regret  it. 

In  like  manner  it  seemed  that  the  lawyer's  conscious 
ness  was  pricked  with  apprehension  that  day,  and  he  went 
out  of  his  usual  course  to  make  suggestions  to  a  client 
after  having  received  positive  instructions  from  him.  So 
when  Mr.  Kishu  rang  his  bell  to  inquire  for  his  secretary, 
Thomas  brought  a  note  from  Mr.  Speedwell. 

"  Where  is  Mr.  Lampson,  Thomas?  " 

"  I've  not  seen  him  since  early  this  morning,  sir.  It's 
likely  he's  off  on  a  spree  all  by  himself,  if  you  haven't 
sent  him  out.  He  was  usin'  his  squirter  lively  after  he 
come  out  of  here;  that  I  did  see,  sir,"  replied  the  lackey. 

"  Indeed!  Call  the  president  of  the  Commonwealth  on 
the  telephone,  and  let  me  know  when  you  get  him." 

"All  right,  sir." 


366 


MURVALE    EASTMAA 


Mr.  Kishu  opened  the  note  his  man  had  handed  him 
and  read: 

"  I  do  not  know  as  you  remember  the  fact  that  this 
man  Underwood  claims  to  be  an  heir  of  old  Xim  Valen 
tine.  Perhaps  that  may  make  a  difference  in  the  matter 
we  spoke  of  this  morning.  Yours,  R.  S.M 

Though  a  cautious  man,  Mr.  Kishu  was  a  stubborn 
one.  He  thought  change  an  indication  of  weakness,  and 
was  more  than  anything  else  afraid  that  people  might 
think  him  weak.  This  is  the  fallacy  of  most  stubborn  men 
— indeed,  it  marks  the  line  between  firmness  and  stub 
bornness.  He  had  long  since  ceased  to  fear  old  Val 
entine's  heirs,  first,  because  of  the  audacity  long  immu 
nity  brings,  and,  secondly,  because  of  the  lawyer's  very 
clear  statement  of  the  infinitesimal  chances  against  him, 
in  the  opinion  rendered  years  before.  He  did  not  know 
that  the  lawyer  would  never  have  stood  upon  the  chances, 
knowing  as  the  profession  does  how  frail  a  dependence  is 
mere  probability,  and  that  all  these  years  he  had  been 
doubting  as  to  the  law.  So  Kishu  wrote  underneath  the 
lawyer's  inquiry  in  the  fine,  clear  characters  his  chubby 
hand  was  accustomed  to  shape: 

"  I  had  not  overlooked  the  fact.  Go  ahead,"  signed  his 
name,  placed  the  note  in  another  envelope,  and  directed 
it  to  the  lawyer. 

It  seemed  a  fine,  brave  thing  to  do,  and  he  congratu 
lated  himself  upon  his  courage.  Richard  Speedwell  might 
think  the  world  was  going  to  change  and  the  time  at  hand 
when  men  and  women  would  not  consider  money  the  true 
measure  of  success.  He  might  believe  that  Christian 
Socialism  would  prevail;  but  Wilton  Kishu  did  not.  He 


BEHOLD  A  PERFECT  A  \D  AN  UPRIGHT  MAX!    367 

knew  what  chance  a  beggar  had  against  a  millionaire  in  a 
court.  Even  if  his  cause  was  just,  he  knew  that  justice 
is  a  costly  article  to  buy  in  the  market  overt  of  an  Ameri 
can  court,  though  honestly  dispensed,  and  given  "  with 
out  money  and  without  price."  Lawyers  cost  money, 
delays  are  purchasable,  and  the  poor  man  who  fights  the 
rich  must  have  need  of  a  forbearing  stomach  and  unu 
sual  expectancy  of  life.  Justice  under  our  system  pre 
supposes  in  the  poor  when  matched  against  the  rich,  the 
power  to  outlive  delay  and  conquer  both  genius  and  cor 
ruption.  Mr.  Kishu's  faith  was  not,  therefore,,  without 
reasonable  foundation. 

"  I've  got  the  Commonwealth,  sir,"  said  Thomas  at  the 
door  of  the  private  office. 

"  Very  well.     Take  this  to  Mr.  Speedwell." 

The  man  bowed  as  he  took  the  letter  while  his  em 
ployer  sauntered  over  to  the  telephone  in  the  outer  office. 

"  Hello!  "  he  called,  adjusting  the  instrument  to  his  ear. 

There  came  a  rattling,  crackling  squeak  in  reply. 

"Who  is  this?" 

Another  crackling  splutter. 

"Has  Lampson  been  at  the  bank  to-day?" 

There  was  a  moment's  delay,  then  the  little  explosive 
squeak  came  again. 

"  For  how  much?  '' 

Another  delay. 

"Did  he  cash  it?" 

"What?" 

"  Got  it  certified,  eh?" 

More  squeaks. 

"  So  you've  paid  it  to  the  West  End  National?  " 

There  was  another  crackling  minification  of  human 
speech. 


3  68  M  UK  VALE    EAST  MAX, 

"  Oh,  no,1'  said  Kishu  speaking  unblushingly  to  the  un 
seeing  transmitter;  "nothing  wrong,  only  if  Lampson 
had  not  cashed  it,  I  would  have  made  a  bigger  draft  on 
you  to-day.  I  hardly  expected  it  would  get  around  so 
soon." 

"What?" 

"  Thank  you ;  it  is  only  a  matter  of  drawing  two  checks 
instead  of  one.  I'll  have  time  to  get  them  certified,  I 
guess.  Good-by." 

The  clocks  were  beginning  to  strike  the  hour  of  three 
as  he  hung  up  the  instrument;  yet  he  appeared  in  no 
haste,  but  sauntered  carelessly  toward  the  door.  It 
seemed  a  curious  thing  to  be  alone  here  in  his  sumptu 
ous  office  at  this  time  of  day.  He  knew  that  just  beyond 
the  wall  were  a  score  of  clerks  at  work  upon  his  business; 
but  they  never  approached  him  unless  sent  for  or  brought 
to  him  by  Lampson,  who  was  his  universal  intermediary. 
Where  was  Lampson?  Had  his  dependent  at  length 
broken  away  and  defied  him?  Mr.  Kishu  smiled  at  the 
thought.  He  did  not  fear  his  secretary.  Why  should 
he?  He  had  never  done  any  wrong,  not  a  single  unlaw 
ful  act — or  only  one,  at  least,  and  of  that  his  secretary 
knew  nothing.  He  could  defy  the  closest  scrutiny;  his 
skirts  were  clean.  Yet  he  looked  troubled. 

" 'Sun — Evening  Sun  ~t "  asked  a  persistent  newsboy  as 
he  strolled  by  the  plate-glass  door.  "  Ten  thousand  dol 
lars  reward!  " 

"  Ten  thousand  dollars  reward" — the  very  sum  he  had 
lost.  The  Evening  Sun  was  a  sort  of  supplemental  edition 
of  the  Morning  Breeze,  and  the  magnate  of  the  Thunder 
bolt  had  as  little  use  for  it;  but  he  opened  the  door, 
dropped  a  penny  into  the  boy's  grimy  hand,  and  received 
the  damp,  clammy  sheet,  the  very  smell  of  which  somehow 


BEHOLD  A  PERFECT  AXD  A.V  UPR1GJI '/'  MAX!    369 

reminded  him  of  the  dead,  as  he  carried  it  into  his  private 
room. 

There  it  was,  sure  enough : 

\ 

"  TEN  THOUSAND  DOLLARS  REWARD. — The  Sun  pub 
lishes  in  its  advertising  columns  to-day  an  offer  that  will 
make  many  a  wearer  of  opals  examine  with  care  the  gleam 
ing  gems  in  their  possession,  in  the  hope  that  the  tradition 
of  good  luck  which  so  often  attaches  to  them  may  in  their 
case  be  fulfilled.  Ten  thousand  dollars  is  offered  for  evi 
dence  that  will  lead  to  the  discovery  of  an  intermitting 
flame-like  opal  having  engraved  on  the  under  side  the 
letters  D  X  V.  It  is  not  probable,  from  the  description, 
that  the  gem  is  worth  one-half,  perhaps  not  a  quarter  of 
that  amount;  but  as  the  party  offering  this  unprecedented 
reward  is  abundantly  able  to  pay  the  same,  there  is  little 
doubt  that  if  the  gem  is  in  existence  it  will  be  found. 
It  is  said  to  be  unique,  and  a  cast  of  the  lettering  is  in 
existence  so  that  imposition  will  be  impossible.  We  know 
no  more  about  the  purpose  of  the  advertisement  than  our 
readers,  but  from  the  fact  that  advertisements  referring 
to  a  similar  stone  have  for  many  years  appeared  at  inter 
vals  in  our  city  papers — sometimes  in  connection  with  a 
supposed  crime — we  naturally  infer  that  some  indefatiga 
ble  sleuth-hound  of  justice  is  hot  upon  the  trail  of  some 
bloody-handed  malefactor." 

Great  drops  of  sweat  rolled  off  the  pallid  face  of  Mr. 
Kishu  as  he  read,  and  fell  down  upon4  the  dank  page  that 
lay  on  his  desk. 

He  had  never  violated  the  law  but  once — only  once,  and 
that  was  long  ago  barred  by  the  law's  mercy!  There  was 
no  blood  upon  his  hands.  Souls  do  not  bleed.  And  he 
24 


37° 


MURVALE   EASTMAN. 


had  never  killed  anything  more  important  than  a  soul. 
It  is  not  unlawful  to  kill  souls — oh,  no!  He  could  not  be 
punished — but  the  shame !  Could  he  ever  buy  the  respect 
of  men  again  if  his  one  unlawful  act  were  known?  Who 
was  this  mysterious  enemy  that  had  dogged  him  for  years 
under  a  dozen  different  aliases?  He  had  never  dared  try 
to  find  out;  now  he  must  know.  Could  it  be  Lampson? 
Was  his  own  money  to  pay  for  his  own  destruction  ? 


CHAPTER   XXXIV. 

LOVE'S    GILDED    HEADSTONE. 

"  GOOD-BY,"  said  Frank  Marsh,  lifting  his  hat  to  Lilian 
Kishu  as  she  stopped  at  the  door  of  her  father's  office. 
"  No,  thank  you,  I  won't  come  in.  I'm  afraid  the  paternal 
hasn't  much  use  for  me,  doesn't  look  kindly  on  me  be 
cause  of  a  certain  inherited  impecuniosity.  I  say,  Lily,  if 
it  wasn't  for  you  I  should  be  tempted  to  wish  he  had  never 
grown  rich ;  or  rather,  if  it  wasn't  for  you  I  should  not 
care  whether  he  were  rich  or  poor." 

"  I  am  sure  that  has  never  made  any  difference  with 
me,"  said  Lilian  reproachfully.  She  let  go  of  the  knob 
and  sauntered  on  beside  him.  There  was  a  soft  flush 
upon  her  cheek,  but  no  trace  of  self-consciousness.  He 
was  her  old  friend  and  it  was  pleasant  to  be  with  him : 
that  was  all. 

"  That's  a  fact,"  said  the  handsome  young  fellow  lightly. 
"  I  don't  know  of  anybody  I  would  ask  to  do  a  favor  for 
me  as  soon  as  my  old  playmate.  I  suppose  you'd  get  me 
a  place  on  the  Thunderbolt  if  I  should  leave  the  Breeze, 
even  if  it  cost  you  a — well,  a  diamond  ring?  " 


LOl'E'S   C.ILDKD   HEADSTONE.  37! 

The  girl  laughed  contentedly. 

"  I'd  do  my  very  best,'1  she  said. 

The  street  was  crowded  and  a  little  ripple  of  hurrying 
passers-by  separated  them  for  a  moment  as  she  made  this 
reply.  They  were  city-bred  from  childhood,  and  never 
minded  such  interruption;  or  rather,  they  felt  that  quiet 
separation  from  the  rest  of  the  world  which  is  nowhere  so 
complete  as  in  the  crowded  streets  of  a  great  city. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,"  he  said  as  they  came  together 
again.  "  Perhaps  you  would  even  get  Lampson's  place 
for  me  if  it  were  vacant." 

"  Of  course  I  would.  Wouldn't  that  be  splendid!  "  she 
exclaimed  enthusiastically.  "  Papa  would  like  you  the 
best  in  the  world  if  he  were  only  acquainted  with  you." 

"Just  what  I  think,"  said  Marsh  with  a  shrug;  "but 
unfortunately  he  shows  no  special  inclination  to  improve 
his  opportunities  in  that  direction." 

They  were  separated  again,  and  after  a  moment  passed 
into  a  side  street  leading  toward  the  office  of  the  Breeze. 

"  By  the  way,  Lily,  speaking  about  rings,  it  seems  to  me 
you  have  quit  wearing  some  of  yours,  lately.  What  does 
it  mean?" 

"  Oh,"  said  the  girl  dolefully,  "  I  wish  some  one  would 
tell  me  what  to  do;  I  feel  so  bad." 

"  Have  you  broken  with  Mr.  Eastman  ? "  asked  the 
young  man  almost  under  his  breath. 

"  I — yes — I  suppose  so.  You  see,  papa — he  insisted, 
and — and " 

"Do  you  love  him,  Lily?" 

The  girl  did  not  look  up,  nor  note  the  tremor  in  her 
companion's  voice. 

"  He  is  the  best  man  in  the  world,  and  it  hurts  me  so 
to  know  that  he  suffers,"  she  answered  sorrowfully. 


372  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

"  But  do  you  love  him?  " 

"Why,  I  suppose  so— of  course.  I  wish  you  were  my 
brother  so  that  I  could  tell  you  all  about  it  and  ask  your 
advice." 

She  looked  up  at  the  tall  Adonis  by  her  side,  and  was 
amazed  to  see  his  face  groxv  white  and  his  lips  shut  hard 
under  the  light  mustache. 

"Why,  Frank,  what  is  the  matter?  "  she  asked,  taking 
his  arm.  They  had  never  got  over  the  intimacies  of  the 
boy-and-girl  period.  He  did  not  answer. 

"  Tell  me,"  she  insisted  anxiously.     "  What  is  it?  " 

"  Why,  Lilian,  can  you  not  see  that  it  is  the  one  thing 
I  am  grateful  for?  " 

He  turned  his  white  face  toward  her,  and  his  deep  blue 
eyes  burned  down  into  hers  with  a  flame  that  startled 
her. 

"  What  do  you  mean?  "  she  asked. 

"  That  I  am  not  your  brother." 

Her  eyes  fell  beneath  his  ardent  gaze,  and  a  vivid  flush 
mantled  neck  and  cheek.  Instinctively  she  let  go  his 
arm  and  turned  to  go  back. 

"  Lilian !  "  he  exclaimed,  catching  her  by  the  arm,  "  do 
not  be  angry!  I  could  not  help  it!  " 

She  did  not  reply,  but  walked  slowly  back,  her  gaze  still 
downcast  and  the  flush  showing  on  her  cheek. 

"  You  will  at  least  say  good-by?  "  he  pleaded. 

"  You  are  going  away?  " 

"  I  must." 

"  You  might  wait — a  while  at  least." 

"  Not  now — I — I  cannot  afford  it." 

"  But  you  might  get  a — a  better  place!  " 

"Any  other  place  is  better  for  me  now! " 

"Oh!" 


LOWS   GILDED   HEADSTOXE.  373 

The  exclamation  seemed  to  escape  her  lips  uncon 
sciously.  They  walked  on  a  few  steps  farther. 

"  Well,  good-by,"  he  said  resolutely,  stopping  and  hold 
ing  out  his  hand.  She  laid  hers  in  it  mechanically. 

"  Good-by,"  she  said  quickly,  stealing  a  glance  up  at 
him.  The  sun  shone  on  his  brown,  clustering  curls  as 
he  stood  uncovered.  Then  she  cast  down  her  eyes  again 
and  walked  quickly  away. 

"  How  handsome  he  is,"  she  thought.     "  What  a  pity!  " 

What  it  was  that  was  pitiful  she  did  not  define  even  to 
herself.  Perhaps  she  did  not  know.  Her  head  was  bent 
down  and  her  cheeks  burning;  she  only  knew  that  she 
was  hurrying  back  to  her  father's  office.  She  did  not 
mind  the  people  in  the  street,  for  she  knew  they  were  not 
minding  her. 

"Miss  Lilian!" 

How  well  she  knew  the  voice !  The  very  tone  brought 
rest.  She  knew  the  face  she  would  see  before  she  looked 
up ;  but  she  did  look  up  fearlessly,  gratefully. 

"Oh!  Mr.  Eastman — Murvale.  Come  with  me,  do,  to 
the  office!" 

She  laid  her  hand  on  his  arm  as  she  spoke,  and  then  let 
it  fall  as  he  turned  and  walked  beside  her.  They  did  not 
speak  until  they  reached  the  office  door. 

"Shall  I  call  a  carriage  for  you?"  he  asked,  anxiously, 
noting  the  pallor  that  had  succeeded  the  flush. 

"  No,  I  thank  you.  I  will  rest  here  awhile.  You  are 
very  kind." 

She  bowed  and  opened  the  door.  He  raised  his  hat 
and  walked  on. 

Thomas  started  to  open  the  door  of  the  private  office 
when  his  employer's  daughter  entered,  apologizing  for 
his  delinquency  in  not  observing  her  approach. 


374 


MURVALE  EASTMAN. 


"  Never  mind,  Thomas.  I  will  sit  here  a  little  while. 
Is  papa  very  busy?  " 

"  Sure  he's  had  a  deal  upon  his  hands  the  day,  Mr. 
Lampson  being  gone/' 

"  Where  is  Lampson?  " 

"  Gone  upon  the  divil's  own  errand,  mum.  It's  mesilf 
that  wishes  the  unsightly  raskil  would  niver  find  his  way 
back  at  all." 

"  Why,  Thomas !  You  should  not  speak  that  way  of 
one  so  unfortunate." 

"  His  legs  is  a  bit  weak,  it's  true,  but  his  tongue's  able- 
bodied,  mum,  an'  he  can  do  a  whole  man's  work,  or  two 
or  three  of  'em,  belike,  an'  get  time  for  mischief  an'  non 
sense  as  would  take  another  man  all  his  time  to  study  out, 
besides." 

"What  sort  of  mischief,  Thomas?  " 

"  Rhoimes  an'  the  loike." 

"You  don't  mean  to  say  that  Mr.  Lampson  writes 
poetry." 

"  If  ye  call  it  poetry.  Sure  it's  enough  to  set  a  man's 
hair  on  ind  and  make  him  think  the  place  is  haunted, 
specially  when  one  can  see  him,  grittin'  his  teeth  an' 
wrigglin'  as  if  every  bone  in  his  body  was  broke,  or  hop- 
pin'  down  off  his  stool  an'  stampin'  up  an'  down  the  fluj;e 
with  his  man's  body  an'  boy's  feet,  a-spoutin'  of  it !  Sure, 
it  makes  me  old  afore  me  time  a-watchin'  uv  him.  Look 
at  that,  Miss,  do  you  call  that  poetry?  I  found  it  on  the 
flure  after  he'd  cut  out,  lavin'  Mr.  Kishu,  dear  man, 
alone — that  might  have  been  murdered  all  by  himself. 
Sure  it  gave  me  quite  a  start  till  I  found  he  was  safe." 

He  handed  Lilian  a  sheet  of  paper  as  he  spoke. 

"  Now,  Miss  Lilian,  it  isn't  safe,  the  way  yer  fayther 
does,  in  his  private  office  there  that  no  one  can  hear  a 


LOME'S  GILDED   HEADSTONE.^  375 

word  outside  of,  an'  only  me  an'  Goggles  out  here  an' 
often  both  of  us  gone  an'  the  clerks  beyant  knowin'  no- 
thin'  of  it  at  all." 

"O  Thomas!"  exclaimed  the  frightened  girl,  leaning 
back  in  her  chair. 

"  I  beg  pardon,  mum ;  sure  I  forgot  intirely.  Shall  I 
get  ye  a  glass  of  water,  mum?  " 

The  man  hurried  off  without  waiting  for  an  answer. 
The  clocks  were  striking  as  usual.  Lilian  smiled  as  she 
heard  them ;  and  then  wondered  whether  they  were  be 
ginning  to  strike  the  next  hour  or  concluding  the  chimes 
of  the  one  last  past.  As  she  waited  she  glanced  at  the 
sheet  she  held  in  her  hand  and  read  in  the  faultless  chirog- 
raphy  of  the  missing  secretary,*  these  stanzas: 

20. 

"  And  crescent  Dian,  stirred  at  last, 

Slid  in  her  shallop  down  the  clouds  ; 
And  all  the  buried  dead,  in  shrouds 
Rose  up,  and  came  and  stood  aghast. 


21. 

"  Vast,  serpent,  swirling,  sphere-sprite  Gyres, 
Enwheeled  round  whirling  worlds  on  high, 
In  black,  abysmal  gulf  of  sky, 
Whipt  down  to  quench  their  pristine  fires. 

*  The  verses  attributed  to  Lampson  are  parts  of  an  unpublished 
poem,  entitled  "The  Mad  Artist's  Chaunt,"  by  Mr.  J.  H.  Temple, 
the  manuscript  of  which  was  in  the  author's  possession  when  these 
chapters  were  written.  (See  also  page  353).  The  idea  of  attributing 
them  to  a  Russian  poet  named  Worsoff,  was  the  result  of  a  jocular 
suggestion  by  Mr.  Temple  that  the  best  way  to  get  his  poems  pub 
lished  might  be  to  have  them  brought  out  as  translations  "from  the 
Russian," 


376  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

22. 

"  And  huge  sun-spheres,  enspaced  a-deep, 
And  lodestone  worlds  far  out  the  ken 
Of  puling,  gnat-souled  daws  of  men, 
Swept  down  the  empyrean  steep. 

23- 
"  Fierce  Bedouin  Bruxas,  all  wing-weird 

With  fringe-fret,  flame  flakes  of  the  Devil, 
Forsook  his  hellish,  midnight  revel — 
Engentled  as  a  child  afeard. 

24- 

"  And  skeletons  that  sank  to  bleach 
For  ages  'neath  the  sea-salt  gloom 
Of  Ocean's  ever-opening  tomb, 
Arose,  and  clambered  up  the  beach." 

They  were  evidently  part  of  a  longer  poem.  Lilian 
shuddered  as  she  read  the  horribly  grotesque  fancies. 

"  He's  mad,"  she  said  to  herself,  "  mad  as  a  March  hare. 
Yet  there  is  a  weird  beauty  in  what  he  writes.  But  papa 
really  ought  not  to  have  him  here;  he  ought  to  have 
Frank." 

Her  face  burned  with  a  hot  blush  as  this  thought 
crossed  her  mind. 

"  Sure  nobody  would  think  ye  were  that  pale;  I  thought 
ye  was  goin'  to  faint  a  minute  ago,"  said  Thomas,  as  he 
handed  her  a  tiny  goblet  of  water  on  a  dainty  tray. 

The  electric  bell  over  Mr.  Lampson's  desk  rang  furi 
ously  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  must  go  to  him  now,"  said  the  man  uneasily. 

Lilian  reached  out  her  hand  and  taking  the  tray,  sat 
sipping  the  water  thoughtfully  as  the  servant  disappeared. 

A  messenger  boy  entered  and  stood  looking  about  the 


LOl'E'S  GILDED   HEADSTONE.  377 

room  when  informed  that  Mr.  Kishu  was  engaged.  Then 
he  asked  for  "  Goggles."  Lilian  took  his  book  and  re 
ceipted  for  the  message  he  had  brought.  The  boy  saun 
tered  out,  pausing  for  a  long  look  through  the  polished 
glass  door  at  the  fair  lady  and-the  luxurious  office.  Lilian 
smiled  as  she  met  his  gaze  fixed  wonderingly  upon  her. 
She  liked  to  be  admired,  even  by  a  street  gamin.  She 
was  glad  her  beauty  gave  pleasure.  She  remembered  the 
words  of  Murvale  Eastman  when  he  had  told  her  that 
beauty  was  a  blessing  which  should  be  used  to  give  hap 
piness.  She  remembered  his  face,  too.  as  she  had  seen 
it  a  few  moments  before,  and  forgot  the  boy  looking  in 
at  the  window.  What  tenderness  there  was  in  it!  Yet 
there  was  a  sadness  too.  Her  beauty  had  not  brought 
////;/  pleasure ;  of  thai  she  was  sure.  Yet  how  noble  and 
chivalric  he  was — not  one  word  or  look  of  reproach.  He 
was  one  of  whose  love  any  woman  might  be  proud.  And 
he  loved  her.  The  memory  of  a  dark  stairway  and  a 
clinging  embrace  rose  before  her  mind.  Then  she  thought, 
with  strange  perversity,  how  nice  it  would  be  if  Frank 
were  in  Lampson's  place.  He  was  so  perfectly  charm 
ing  in  his  manner  and  so  handsome!  Why  could  not 
•Murvale  Eastman  have  been  like  him?  Then  the  blushes 
chased  themselves  over  her  cheek.  She  knew,  now,  that 
Frank  Marsh  loved  her  too.  It  seemed  as  if  she  had 
always  known  it,  if  she  had  only  thought  about  it.  She 
was  glad  of  it,  too,  but  she  did  not  love  him;  she  was 
sure  of  that,  but  blushed  again  as  she  assured  herself  of 
it.  Thomas  came  out  and  held  open  the  door  of  the 
private  office  for  her  to  enter.  The  boy  who  had  left  the 
impress  of  his  mouth  and  nose  on  the  heavy  plate  glass 
fell  away  from  it  like  filings  from  a  dead  magnet,  as  she 
disappeared. 


378  iM UK  VALE  EASTMAN. 

"Ain  t  she  a  stunner?  "  he  said  to  himself,  and  loitered 
on  his  way,  dreaming  of  the  time  when  he  would  have 
just  such  an  office,  and  just  such  a  wife  as  Lilian  Kishu. 

"  Did  you  know  you  had  a  new  secretary,  papa?  "  asked 
Lilian,  handing  him  the  message  the  boy  had  brought 
and  stooping  at  the  same  time  to  receive  his  kiss.  "  I 
found  Lampson  gone  and  so  receipted  for  your  message 
myself." 

"Has  the  boy  gone?" 

"  He  said  there  was  no  answer.  Why  don't  you  get 
another  secretary,  papa?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to,"  said  Mr.  Kishu,  glancing 
over  the  message,  with  a  look  of  satisfaction  on  his  face. 
"  Do  you  want  the  place?  I  give  you  warning  it  will  take 
rare  talent  to  fill  it!  " 

"  Oh,  I  would  like  it  above  all  things,"  said  Lilian,  en 
thusiastically  ;  "but,  you  bad  papa,"  she  added  with  a 
pout,  "  you  never  let  me  have  what  I  want." 

She  had  seated  herself  in  a  chair  in  front  of  him,  and 
her  bantering  reproach  was  balm  for  the  troubles  the  day 
had  brought  him.  Wilton  Kishu  was  literally  "  in  love  " 
with  his  daughter.  His  wife  had  been  in  the  background 
ever  since  Lilian  had  been  large  enough  to  be  petted  and. 
exhibited  by  her  father.  His  wife  had  never  been  his 
ideal.  She  was  well  enough  at  the  outset  of  his  career, 
but  her  charms  had  faded  before  he  had  time  to  exult  in 
them.  He  had  risen  into  a  higher  level  of  society,  but  he 
could  not  take  her  with  him.  She  was  comely  and  could 
carry  off  not  unfittingly  the  rich  dresses  he  provided;  but 
she  seemed  quite  unable  otherwise  to  adapt  herself  to 
her  new  surroundings.  In  one  sense  she  seemed  to  fill 
her  new  position  even  better  than  her  husband:  but  she 
could  not  make  herself  at  home  in  it;  she  hated  to  be 


LOVE'S  GILDED   HEADSTONE. 


379 


patronized  and  looked  down  upon.  Her  one  ambition 
had  been  to  assert  herself  in  some  striking  and  notable 
manner  against  these  new  associations  which  fretted  her 
with  at  least  the  fancied  intimation  of  superiority.  Be 
sides  this,  she  loved  her  husband  with  a  devotion  which 
was  absolutely  self-annihilating  except  in  one  respect — 
she  could  not  endure  the  thought  that  he  should  love  an 
other  better  than  herself.  For  this  reason  she  had  been 
in  a  sense  jealous  of  her  daughter  almost  from  her  in 
fancy,  and  her  favorite  scheme  of  marrying  Lilian  to  a 
foreign  prince  had  a  double  object:  first,  to  enable  her  to 
outshine  the  society  to  which  she  owed  a  sort  of  grudge; 
and,  second,  to  separate  the  daughter  from  her  father, 
leaving  him  solely  to  her  own  adulatory  devotion.  There 
was  nothing  cruel  or  unmotherly  in  this.  She  did  not 
wish  to  wreck  her  daughter's  happiness,  but  to  secure  her 
own. 

The  fair  girl's  pouting  complaint  was  as  incense,  there 
fore,  to  the  enamored  father.  He  loved  her  better  than 
himself,  but  he  loved  to  be  loved  by  her  better  than  any 
thing  else  in  the  world.  The  keenest  pangs  he  had  felt 
of  late  had  been  caused  by  the  thought  that  he  must  cause 
her  suffering.  Her  sadness  had  been  a  constant  reproach 
to  him,  and  now  to  find  her  in  her  accustomed  teasing, 
caressing  mood  was  the  most  exquisite  pleasure. 

"As  if  there  were  anything  I  could  refuse  you,"  he  said 
with  smiling  reproachfulness.  "  I  really  believe  I  could 
not  do  such  a  thing  even  for  your  own  good." 

"  Yet  you  would  not  let  me  have  Lampson's  place?  " 

"  My  dear,  you  know  you  do  not  want  it." 

"  How  long  will  he  be  away?  " 

"  It  is  not  likely  he  will  ever  return." 

"Why  not?" 


380  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 

"  He  has  gone  to  Bermuda  with  ten  thousand  dollars  in 
his  pocket." 

"Mercy!     Did  he  steal  it?" 

"I  gave  it  to  him.1' 

"  Then  why  will  he  not  return?  " 

"  The  opportunity  for  indulgence  is  more  than  he  can 
resist.'' 

Mr.  Kishu  spoke  very  solemnly.  Both  were  silent  for 
a  time.  The  clocks  were  striking  a  half-hour,  but  neither 
noticed  them. 

"  It  will  be  hard  to  fill  his  place,"  said  Lilian  after  a 
moment. 

"  It  is  a  position  of  great  responsibility  and  not  a  little 
difficulty." 

"Why  don't  you  get  Frank  Marsh?" 

Mr.  Kishu  started. 

"  Pshaw!  he's  not  steady  enough." 

"  Why,  Papa  Kishu,  you  know  he  is  just  as  steady  as  a 
clock.  Besides,  he's  so  cheerful  and  gentlemanly." 

"  Too  handsome,  by  all  odds.  He'd  be  falling  in  love 
with  my  daughter  first  I  knew." 

"Was  that  the  reason  you  kept  Lampson?  How  dis 
creet!  Well,  you  needn't  fear.  Your  daughter  has  other 
plans  for  her  future." 

"  Yes,  I  forgot ;  you  are  to  marry  the  prince." 

"Never!" 

"  What  do  you  mean,  then?  " 

"  No  matter.  I  have  no  more  idea  of  marrying  Frank 
Marsh  than  Prince  Moraydin,  but  I  would  like  to  do  an 
old  playmate  a  good  turn  and  give  my  father  a  faithful 
friend  and  servant  at  the  same  time." 

"  You  speak  very  positively  about  this  young  man." 

"A  girl  in  my  position  comes  to  know  young  men,  if 


'S'  CIl.DED   IIEADSTOXE.  381 

she  has  any  sense  at  all,"  said  Lilian  quietly.  "  I'm  not 
a  milkmaid/' 

"  Let  Wilton  Kishu's  daughter  alone  for  finding  out 
what  people  are  like,"  said  the  father  proudly. 

Lilian  smiled ;  she  knew  her  father's  weakness. 

"  His  father  was  my  partner  once/'  continued  Kishu 
with  a  twinge  of  remorse. 

•''And  you  ought  to  give  him  a  chance  to  retrieve  his 
father's  misfortune,"  said  Lilian  pointedly. 

Wilton  Kishu  looked  at  his  daughter  keenly.  She 
knew  the  story  of  her  father's  rise,  but  gave  no  hint  of 
such  knowledge  in  her  artless  gaze.  She  had  taken  off 
her  gloves  and  his  eyes  fell  upon  her  hands  crossed  on  her 
lap.  He  had  been  wondering  all  day  how  he  should  get 
the  opal  from  her,  without  awakening  suspicion.  For 
the  first  time  he  missed  it  from  her  finger. 

"Where  is  your  ring?"  he  asked  anxiously,  "the  opal, 
I  mean?" 

"  Did  you  think  I  would  break  with  a  lover  and  retain 
his  gift?  "  she  asked  with  some  haughtiness. 

"  But  it  was  not  his — only  the  setting,  at  least." 

"  He  put  it  on  my  finger,  and  fastened  it  with  a  kiss, 
too,"  said  Lilian,  casting  down  her  eyes  and  showing  signs 
of  tears. 

"And  you  gave  it  back  to  him,  I  suppose."  , 

"  I  gave  it  to  a  friend  of  his." 

"  Very  well ;  I'll  make  a  bargain  with  you.  If  you'll 
get  me  that  ring,  I'll  let  you  name  the  secretary." 

"At  what  salary?  " 

"  Two  thousand." 

"  You  can  afford  to  do  better." 

"  Well,  four,  then." 

w  It's  a  bargain." 


382  ML'KTALE   EASTMAN. 

Lilian  arose  and  leaning  over  the  back  of  the  padded 
office  chair  in  which  her  father  sat,  kissed  him  again  and 
again. 

"  But  how  will  you  get  the  ring?  " 

"  Never  fear,  I  shall  get  it."  She  spoke  with  quiet  as 
surance. 

"  You  may  not  find  it  so  easy.*' 

"  I  shall  get  it,"  she  answered  confidently. 

The  father  twisted  himself  around  in  the  chair  and 
looked  up  at  his  daughter's  face.  It  was  smiling  and  tri 
umphant. 

"  What  makes  you  so  sure?  "  he  asked  anxiously. 

"  Because  the  man  I  rely  on  accomplishes  what  he  un 
dertakes." 

"And  he  is— 

"  Murvale  Eastman/' 

"  Why  do  you  think  he  will  give  it  back  to  you?  " 

"  I  expect  to  be  his  wife."     Her  face  was  set  and  firm. 

"  You  expect  to  marry  him !  Marry  Murvale  Eastman ! 
Not  much — not  if  I  know  myself.  He  is  my  enemy — my 
worst  enemy,  and  I  have  just  got  him  in  my  clutch!  Look 
there!" 

He  spread  the  message  she  had  brought  before  her.  It 
read: 

"  Not  the  least  doubt ;  no  such  poet  as  Worsoff  ever 
lived.  It  is  a  sheer  fabrication — a  lie  out  and  out.  God 
forgive  him.  G.  A.  PHUE." 

"Well,  what  does  that  mean?  "  Lilian  asked. 

"  Why,  he's  a  liar.     Don't  you  see?  " 

"Who?" 

"  Eastman." 

"  Murvale  Eastman?  " 


s  <///,/;/•;/>  HEADSTONE.  383 

"  Of  course." 

"Why,  papa,  you  are  crazy!  You  don't  know  the  man. 
He  couldift  lie!  A  lie  is  not  possible  to  him !  " 

"  Bah,  ministers  are  human,  and  the  Association  knows 
it !  "  he  sneered.  "  You  won't  make  them  believe  a  grown 
man  carft  lie!  " 

"  Who  is  this  Worsoff  ?  " 

"  Why,  don't  you  see?  "  he  replied  earnestly.  "  He  isn't 
anybody.  That's  what's  the  matter.  Eastman  quoted 
him  in  his  speech  the  other  night,  or  pretended  to,  rather. 
There's  the  report;  and  it  turns  out  there  isn't  any  such 
man.  It's  a  flam,  you  see;  some  of  his  own  lingo  dressed 
up  and  packed  off  on  the  crowd  as  another  man's  poetry." 

"Who  made  this  report?"  asked  Lilian,  turning  over 
the  pages. 

"  Why,  Lampson,  of  course." 

"And  he's  in  Bermuda?" 

"  He  has  started,  I  suppose." 

"  Do  you  think  any  one  will  believe  this  story?  " 

"  Lampson  is  the  best  stenographer  in  the  city." 

"  Do  you  think  it  will  be  believed?  " 

"  Well,  it  will  be  apt  to  stick,  anyhow;  he  can't  disprove 
it.  What  do  you  say  now?  " 

"I  shall  marry  Murvale  Eastman!  " 

Lilian  was  very  pale  as  she  stuffed  a  paper  into  her 
pocket,  and  began  putting  on  her  gloves;  but  she  did  not 
quail  before  her  father's  wrathful  eyes  as  he  leaped  to  his 
feet  and  exclaimed: 

"  I  forbid  it !     I  will  disown  you,  disinherit  you !  " 

"  Father !  "  said  Lilian  clasping  her  hand  over  his  mouth, 
"you  don't  know  what  you  are  saying!  " 

She  leaned  forward  and  whispered  with  hard,  white  lips 
into  his  ear. 


384  MURV'ALK 


"  My  God!  "  he  exclaimed,  casting  a  glance  of  mingled 
terror  and  reproach  upon  her.  Then  he  dropped  all  in 
a  heap  upon  the  chair,  and  his  head  fell  forward  on  his 
arms  outspread  upon  the  desk. 


CHAPTER    XXXV. 

AN    UNREASONABLE     CONSCIENCE. 

WILTON  KISHU  had  done  but  one  unlawful  act  in  his 
whole  life,  and  that  was  long  ago;  so  he  said;  so  he  be 
lieved.  This  was  not  a  crime  of  the  most  heinous  charac 
ter,  even  if  it  was  exactly  criminal  at  all ;  but  it  rested 
heavily  upon  his  conscience,  nevertheless.  The  statute 
oflimitation — that  merciful  bar  which  the  law  puts  between 
a  man  and  all  but  the  most  serious  offenses — had  long 
ago  interposed  to  shield  him  from  punishment.  Yet  he 
could  not  forget  it,  and  of  late  it  seemed  as  if  everything 
conspired  to  recall  it  to  his  memory. 

He  had  done  many  worse  things,  things  which  affected 
more  lives,  and  affected  them  more  injuriously,  but  they 
were  not  unlawful;  so  his  conscience  did  not  prick  him 
as  to  them.  He  had  been  one  of  a  company  of  conspira 
tors  who  destroyed  the  business  and  depreciated  the  stock 
of  a  great  railroad,  the  wreck  of  which  convulsed  the 
financial  world,  swept  away  the  dependence  of  thousands, 
and  condemned  myriads  of  families  to  hopeless  poverty 
and  the  bitter  struggle  for  daily  bread.  Rut  that  was  law 
ful.  They  acted  under  advice  of  counsel,  and  all  enlight 
ened  people  know  that  such  things  are  necessary.  All 
good  men  and  women  know  that  civilization  would  perish 
and  business  be  at  a  standstill  if  the  law  did  not  protect 


AN    UNREASONABLE    CONSCIENCE.  385 

the  rich  in  robbery  and  abandon  the  poor  to  oppression. 
Wilton  Kishu  had  never  had  any  qualms  about  that 
"deal;"  indeed,  he  used  often  to  tell  with  what  anxiety 
he  waited  the  result.  Well  he  might ;  if  the  scheme  had 
failed,  he  would  have  been  a  pauper. 

He  had  been  one  of  the  directors  of  a  mining  company, 
too,  who  had  used  their  power  with  reckless  disregard  of 
right  to  squeeze  a  dime  here  and  a  penny  there  from 
their  employees.  There  was  no  crime  in  that.  If  the 
men  worked  for  them  they  must  live  in  the  company's 
houses,  buy  at  the  company's  stores,  abide  by  the  com 
pany's  terms,  and  pay  the  company's  prices.  This  is  the 
law  of  dependency,  the  privilege  of  the  employer,  the  fiat 
of  Christian  civilization.  The  Christ  would  rather  a  heca 
tomb  of  such  weak  souls  fell  every  year  upon  death,  and 
that  a  myriad  other  hecatombs  were  impoverished,  dwarfed, 
weakened,  and  enslaved,  than  that  the  least  tittle  of  the 
rich  man's  right  to  control  the  earth  and  its  fullness  for 
his  own  behoof  and  enjoyment  should  fail.  For  the  rich 
man  is  the  prop  of  civilization  and  the  mainstay  of  Chris 
tianity.  He  builds  the  churches,  endows  the  schools,  and 
should  be  allowed  to  plunder  at  will,  in  order  that  he  may 
disburse  at  his  own  good  pleasure. 

The  company  was  administered  on  strictly  business 
principles,  the  most  profit  for  the  least  expenditure.  It 
was  warned  again  and  again  that  an  old  working  was  in 
secure.  But  it  would  take  a  great  deal  of  money  to  make 
it  safe.  It  was  nearly  exhausted  and  would  hardly  pay 
to  put  in  good  condition.  If  the  miners  did  not  choose 
to  work  there,  they  could  go  to  some  other  mine.  Of 
course,  they  would  have  to  leave  their  homes  and  take 
their  chances.  One  day  there  was  a  puff  of  white  smoke, 
followed  by  black  dust  from  the  pit's  mouth!  There  are 
25 


386  Mi 'A' I' ALE  EASTMAN. 

forty-eight  miners  entombed  under  a  brown  hill-top,  which 
rises  bleak  and  bare  above  them  like  an  eternal  appeal  to 
the  justice  of  heaven.  There  was  nothing  unlawful  about 
that,  though.  However,  Wilton  Kishu  never  liked  to 
travel  that  way  afterward.  He  urged  liberality  to  the  be 
reaved,  and  induced  the  company  to  give  each  widow  five 
hundred  dollars  and  a  year's  lease  of  her  house,  on  con 
dition  that  suit  was  not  brought  for  damages.  This  was 
good  business.  It  would  have  taken  much  more  to  put 
the  mine  in  order,  and  the  profit  on  a  month's  labor  of 
the  husbands  would  pay  the  gratuity  to  the  widows.  That 
was  business — lawful  business — joined  with  Christian 
charity ! 

But  Mr.  Kishu  had  once  done  a  wrong,  an  unlawful 
wrong,  for  which  his  conscience  had  reproached  him,  and 
which  he  knew  would  point  the  finger  of  scorn  at  him 
forever  should  it  become  known.  He  thought  it  all  over 
as  his  head  lay  on  his  crossed  arms  upon  the  desk  after 
his  daughter  had  whispered  that  word  in  his  ear.  It  was 
a  foolish  word,  which  might  mean  little  or  much,  but  Mr. 
Kishu's  conscience  was  very  tender  just  at  this  time,  and 
the  great  financier  and  philanthropist  shrank  away  from 
the  slender,  white-faced  daughter  whom  he  loved  so  well, 
as  if  she  were  an  avenging  angel. 

It  was  a  strange  picture  that  swept  before  the  blinded, 
self-accusing  eyes,  a  picture  that  long  antedated  his  fame 
and  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies.  This  was  what  he 
saw: 

He  had  just  set  up  his  carriage  and  was  beginning  to 
be  known  as  "  the  prosperous  Mr.  Kishu."  None  of  his 
great  successes  had  yet  been  projected  or,  if  projected, 
had  not  been  carried  into  execution.  He  had  his  eye  on 
certain  outlying  property  which  he  thought  would  soon  be 


AN    UNREASONABLE    COX  SCIENCE.  387 

in  the  way  of  improvement.  It  seemed  to  him  certain 
that  a  railroad  would  cut  it  in  twain  on  the  way  to  the 
city's  heart.  Now  and  then  he  was  accustomed  to  go  and 
look  it  over.  He  had  no  doubt  as  to  its  ultimate  value, 
and  he  was  pretty  sure  no  one  else  yet  realized  it.  Just 
then  there  was  an  opportunity  to  buy.  It  had  recently 
descended  to  heirs  who  were  of  divergent  interests,  thought 
little  of  future  possibilities,  and  wanted  each  his  portion 
in  available  funds.  There  were  two  questions  to  be  con 
sidered:  how  long  before  the  transformation  scene  would 
begin,  and  how  to  secure  the  money  for  the  purchase? 
He  had  heard  something  that  very  day  which  convinced 
him  that  the  advance  in  price  would  not  be  long  delayed. 
But  the  money?  It  did  not  require  a  great  amount,  only 
$2,000  for  a  first  payment;  but  it  was  just  that  much 
more  than  he  had  in  hand,  and  he  dared  not  strain  his 
credit.  He  had  been  obliged  to  borrow  largely  for  his 
legitimate  business,  and  it  would  not  do  fora  business  man 
to  be  regarded  as  a  speculator  in  those  days.  At  that  time 
speculation  was  not  so  general  nor  so  highly  esteemed  as 
now.  If  he  could  only  raise  a  few  hundred  dollars  he  was 
sure  he  could  hold  on  until  they  ripened  into  thousands. 

He  drove  out  one  spring  afternoon  to  examine  the 
property  again.  It  was  on  the  very  outskirts  of  the  city 
which  already  thought  itself  great — beyond  them,  indeed, 
in  what  was  still  called  the  country.  The  way  to  it  lay 
through  lanes  in  which  poverty  hides  its  squalor,  where 
filth  and  vice  abound;  the  pens  in  which  civilization  prop 
agates  crime  and  disease. 

As  he  passed  through  one  of  these,  Mr.  Kishu  saw  a 
well-dressed  child  battling  against  the  annoying  assaults 
of  a  half-dozen  hectoring  gamins.  She  ran  toward  him 
insinctively  for  protection.  It  was  easy  to  see  that  she 


388  MCKl'AJ.K   EASTMAN. 

did  not  belong  in  the  neighborhood.  He  reached  down 
and  lifted  her  into  the  low  phaeton  in  which  he  rode.  He 
was  very  fond  of  children  and  they  quickly  recognized  his 
kindness  of  heart.  The  little  one  was  weeping  bitterly 
and-  scolding  her  persecutors  with  great  vehemence.  In 
reply  to  his  questions  she  answered  sobbingly,  that  she 
wanted  to  go  to  "mamma."  Who  mamma  was  or  where 
she  lived,  he  could  gather  no  information.  She  had  been 
pushed  over  in  the  mud  and  her  pretty  skirts  were  sadly 
soiled.  She  was  a  winsome  child,  dark-eyed,  with  abun 
dant  tresses.  Her  words  were  no  doubt  intelligible  to 
the  mother  who  had  lost  her,  but  to  the  man  who  had 
found  her  they  were  as  meaningless  as  Greek.  She  had 
a  trinket  in  her  hand  which  she  unceremoniously  deposited 
in  his  palm  as  if  for  safe  keeping,  and  putting  her  head 
upon  his  lap  soon  sobbed  herself  to  sleep. 

Her  rescuer  put  the  trinket  in  his  vest  pocket  and 
drove  on  toward  the  piece  of  land  he  coveted,  glancing 
down  now  and  then  at  the  flushed  cheeks,  and  fondling 
the  firm,  round  chin  upon  his  lap.  He  had  no  children 
then,  and  had  often  proposed  to  his  wife  the  adoption  of 
one.  Mrs.  Kishu  did  not  favor  this  project.  Perhaps 
she  felt  it  something  of  a  reproach  to  her  own  childless 
ness,  as  most  women  do.  But  there  were  other  objections 
also.  Mr.  Kishu  wanted  to  adopt  a  girl ;  Mrs.  Kishu 
preferred  a  boy.  Mr.  Kishu  wanted  one  having  light 
hair;  Mrs.  Kishu  preferred  the  hair  should  be  dark.  He 
wondered  as  he  looked  at  the  sleeping  foundling  in  his 
arms  if  this  child  might  not  serve  as  a  compromise.  It  had 
beautiful  dark  hair  and  eyes.  Perhaps,  in  consideration 
of  these,  his  wife  would  consent  to  overlook  its  sex.  But 
he  feared  there  was  little  prospect  of  such  concession; 
the  truth  being  that  one  of  Mrs.  Kishu's  weaknesses  was 


AN   UNREASONABLE    CONSCIENCE.  389 

an  inordinate  jealousy  of  her  lord  and  master.  To  her 
apprehension  he  was  a  man  of  such  marvelous  qualities 
that  she  could  not  understand  how  any  woman  could  fail 
to  worship  him.  Besides  this,  his  manner  was  so  flatter 
ing  and  deferential.  His  business,  too,  brought  him  in 
contact  with  a  great  many  of  her  sex.  She  could  not  be 
lieve  that  they  all  beheld  his  many  attractions  and  es 
caped  unscotched.  Wilton  Kishu  was  well  aware  of  this 
weakness  of  his  wife.  Perhaps  he  had  half-unconsciously 
encouraged  it.  Such  suspicion  is  not  altogether  unpleas 
ant  to  some  natures.  Whether  there  was  any  ground  for 
it  or  not  it  recurred  to  him  at  his  time,  and  he  sighed  re 
gretfully  as  he  admitted  to  himself  the  improbability  that 
a  child  having  the  dark  locks  of  the  sleeping  girl  would 
ever  become  an  inmate  of  their  household.  Women  are 
so  unreasonable! 

Thus  mused  Mr.  Kishu  as  he  drove  leisurely  toward 
the  tract  of  land  which  in  his  mind's  eye  he  saw  covered 
with  stately  buildings  and  worth  fabulous  sums  per  square 
foot.  As  yet,  it  was  only  "  acre-property,"  and  not  gener 
ally  regarded  as  very  valuable  even  under  that  name  and 
style.  It  was  on  the  bank  of  a  river.  A  ravine  which 
headed  almost  in  the  heart  of  the  city  ran  through  it,  de 
bouching  into  the  river.  Opposite,  another  and  a  larger 
tributary  entered,  whose  arms  stretched  away  back  into 
a  region  full  of  rough  but  unmeasured  wealth,  lumber, 
coal,  iron,  granite,  the  very  thews  and  sinews  of  modern 
civilization.  It  was  a  bright,  sparkling  stream,  cutting  its 
way  through  innumerable  ledges  of  flinty  rock,  and  offer 
ing  along  its  banks  the  only  available  levels  by  which  the 
iron  horse  could  reach  the  treasures  for  which  commerce 
was  already  beginning  to  yearn. 

Mr.  Kishu   stopped   his   horse  on  the  steep  river  bank 


390  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 

and,  crossing  over  a  slight  foot-bridge  which  spanned  the 
narrow  ravine,  began  to  reconnoiter  the  ground  on  which 
the  battle  of  profit  and  foresight  was  to  be  fought  out.  In 
imagination  he  could  see  the  smoke  of  the  locomotive 
streaming  on  the  wind  as  the  train  flew  away  up  the  val 
ley.  He  did  not  doubt  his  expectation  would  be  fulfilled; 
but  when?  That  was  the  question.  Would  it  be  in  six 
months,  a  year,  a  decade  ?  Alas !  he  could  not  tell.  There 
was  nothing  on  which  to  base  an  estimate.  Nothing? 
What  was  that  on  which  the  sun  flashed  just  then?  Mr. 
Kishu  stepped  behind  some  sheltering  shrubs  and  watched. 
After  a  moment  he  made  out  two  men  on  a  rocky  shelf, 
half  a  mile  away,  adjusting  a  theodolite.  What  did  it 
mean?  His  heart  stood  still  with  apprehension  as  he 
realized  that  he  beheld  the  fulfillment  of  his  dream.  These 
men  were  the  path-finders  of  the  railway  which  he  had 
foreseen  would  come.  They  were  spying  out  its  way  into 
the  city.  Within  a  week  every  foot  of  the  land  where  he 
stood  would  be  bought  up.  The  magnates  of  the  railway 
would  be  sure  to  monopolize  the  advantages  to  be  de 
rived  from  the  location  of  the  road  by  secret  information 
of  the  route  it  would  take.  He  saw  it,  and  knew  that  he 
must  act  quickly  or  lose  his  chance.  He  walked  rapidly 
to  the  farther  edge  of  the  tract,  counting  his  steps  as  he 
went.  Then  he  returned  and  stepping  on  the  foot-bridge, 
cast  a  sharp  glance  up  the  narrow,  bushy  dell.  He  would 
not  get  much  for  the  right  of  way  along  it  unless  he  asso 
ciated  with  him  some  of  the  directors.  But  on  either  side 
there  was  room  for  almost  unlimited  development.  He 
must  and  would  have  it. 

His  mind  once  made  up,  Wilton  Kishu  was  a  man  of 
prompt  and  resolute  action.  There  were  three  things  to 
be  done,  and  done  at  once  :  raise  the  money,  get  the  title, 


A  N    I  'NKEA  SON  A />'/.  /•:    ( 'OXSCIKXCE  391 

and  find  the  man  to  negotiate  the  right  of  way.  So  con 
vinced  was  he  of  the  necessity  of  prompt  action  that  he 
started  on  a  run  across  the  narrow  foot-bridge,  his  brain 
already  teeming  with  plans  for  effecting  his  purpose. 
Half-way  across  he  heard  a  scream  which  drove  from  his 
mind  all  thought  of  profit.  A  bare-footed,  elf-like  figure 
leaped  from  the  carriage  with  the  child  in  his  arms  and 
ran  toward  the  bushes  that  grew  along  the  river  bank. 
Mr.  Kishu  was  then  a  very  vigorous  man.  His  life  had 
been  active,  and  when  the  foreman  of  a  company  of  work 
men,  there  had  been  few  under  him  who  would  have  cared 
to  provoke  him  to  the  exercise  of  his  strength.  A  few 
swift  steps  brought  him  now  almost  within  arm's-length 
of  the  young  ruffian  whose  movements  were  obstructed 
by  the  load  he  carried.  His  angry  demeanor  boded 
condign  punishment  for  the  disturber  of  the  child's 
slumber. 

"Don't  you  touch  me!  I'll  jump!"  shrieked  the 
ragged  freebooter,  darting  out  upon  the  extreme  verge  of 
a  grassy  point  that  jutted  over  the  shelving  bank. 

"What  are  you  doing  with  that  child?"  asked  Kishu, 
angrily,  pausing  two  or  three  steps  away. 

"She  ain't  yours;  she's  mine;  ain't  she,  Sissy?  There 
— there!  "  he  added  soothingly,  bringing  the  crying  child 
around  in  front  of  him. 

"Who  are  you?" 

"Oh,  I  ain't  nobody;  and  she's  my  sister,"  grinned  the 
boy.  He  was  a  ragged,  impudent  gamin,  such  as  the  city's 
slums  breed  by  the  thousand  every  year. 

"You  lie!  "  said  Mr.  Kishu,  taking  a  step  nearer. 

"  Don't  yer  come  no  nigher,  er  I'll  jump,"  exclaimed 
the  boy,  spreading  his  feet  far  apart  and  crouching  as  if 
to  make  good  his~\vords.  Mr.  Kishu  reached  out  his  hand 


392  M UK  VALE   EAST  MAX. 

and  broke  off  a  branch  of  witch-hazel  from  a  bush  grow 
ing  near. 

"What  yer  goin'  ter  do?"  asked  the  boy,  watching  the 
man  draw  the  withe  through  his  hand,  stripping  off  the 
leaves  and  branches. 

"  Tm  going  to  whip  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life,  if 
you  don't  bring  that  child  here  instantly,"  said  the  man 
resolutely. 

"  Better  not  try  it,  Mr.  Kishu,"  answered  the  boy  with 
defiance  in  his  tone.  "I  won't  be  whipped  ner  I  won't 
be  tuck  neither.  She  ain't  yours  any  more'n  she's. mine, 
an1  you  can't  git  her  nor  me  neither,  unless  you  pay  the 
reward  an'  promise  not  to  ask  no  questions  ner  do  me 
no  harm." 

"  What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Mr.  Kishu,  seeing  the 
boy's  determination,  and  thinking  it  best  to  parley  for 
a  while,  at  least 

"  I  know  who  she  belongs  to,  an'  they'll  be  offerin'  a  re 
ward  an'  I'll  get  it  fer  bringin'  of  her  back,  don't  yer  see?  " 

"  How  much  do  you  expect?  " 

"  Wai,  that  depends.  Now  you've  come  into  the  busi 
ness  I  s'pose  it  won't  be  much.  I'll  have  to  take  her  back 
before  you  set  the  bobbies  on  me.  Perhaps  ten  or  twenty 
dollars — and  her  clothes." 

"Her  clothes!" 

"Of  course;  it  wouldn't  do  to  hide  her  with  them 
clothes  on,"  said  the  precocious  ruffian  with  a  glance  at 
the  dainty  garments  in  which  the  child  was  arrayed. 

"  You  seem  to  understand  the  business,"  said  the  man 
in  astonishment. 

"  I've  done  something   at  it,"  answered  the   boy  coolly. 

"  Well,  if  I  pay  you  ten  dollars  and  agree  to  say  noth 
ing,  you'll  tell  me  where  her  people  live?  " 


AN   UNREASONABLE   CO.YSCSEsVCE.  393 

"An'  her  clothes,  mister;  don't  forgit  them.  I'll  have 
to  divvy  with  my  mates,  an'  we  couldn't  lose  them." 

"Well,  how  much  for  the  clothes?"  asked  the  man, 
pretending  to  acquiesce.  In  truth  he  was  measuring  the 
distance  between  himself  and  the  child  thief,  and  won 
dering  whether  it  would  be  safe  to  spring  upon  him  where 
he  stood.  He  had  spent  his  own  boyhood  in  the  coun 
try  and  knew  how  treacherous  were  the  sodded  points 
which  jut  over  the  sandy  bank  of  a  stream,  and  concluded 
it  was  better  to  overreach  the  young  ruffian  if  he  could. 

"How  much  fer  the  clothes?  "  asked  the  boy  deliber 
ately,  holding  the  child  out  to  inspect  its  apparel.  "  Wai, 
they're  wuth  more,  but  we'll  take  five  dollars — five  dollars, 
an' -" 

The  sentence  was  never  finished.  The  boy  threw  him 
self  forward  toward  the  man  with  a  shriek  of  fear,  and  the 
man  launched  himself  downward  toward  the  boy  and  girl, 
clinging  to  the  witch-hazel  bush,  all  three  disappearing 
over  the  bank — all  but  the  man's  hand  clasped  round  the 
tough,  solidly-rooted  shrub.  After  a  moment  he  reap 
peared,  flinging  the  girl  upward  on  the  sward.  Then  he 
clambered  up  himself.  He  had  lost  his  hat  and  was 
much  exhausted,  and  fell  down  upon  the  grass  panting 
with  exertion.  The  child  ceased  crying  and  crept  toward 
him.  Its  face  was  scratched  and  bleeding.  What  had 
happened  was  that  the  point  of  earth  on  which  the  boy 
stood  had  suddenly  given  way.  and  Mr.  Kishu  had  barely 
managed  to  save  the  little  girl.  He  had  done  this  at  the 
risk  of  his  own  life,  too.  There  was  nothing  wrong  in 
this.  Indeed,  it  was  an  act  little  short  of  heroism,  and 
he  recalled  with  a  distinct  pang  the  feeling  of  complacent 
gratitude  that  thrilled  him  as  he  lay  panting  on  the  sunlit 
sward  beside  the  sobbing  child  he  had  rescued  from  death. 


394 


Af  URVALE   EAS  TMA  .V. 


For  what  fate  had  she  been  reserved?  Wilton  Kishu 
groaned  as  he  thought  it  might  have  been  better  for  the 
winsome  creature  had  she  been  left  to  find  death  at  the 
foot  of  the  precipice. 

After  a  while  he  rose,  brushed  the  dirt  off  his  clothes, 
and  holding  fast  by  the  bush,  peered  over  the  edge  of  the 
bank.  He  could  see  the  track  of  the  little  land-slide  which 
had  just  occurred,  almost  to  the  bottom.  His  hat  was  on 
the  edge  of  the  water  several  feet  from  the  foot  of  the 
bank,  bottom  upward,  half-full  of  earth  and  stones.  The 
water  looked  deep  just  beyond  it.  He  wondered  what 
had  become  of  the  boy,  and  called  to  him  several  times. 
There  were  some  stunted  trees  and  a  few  bushes  near  the 
water,  which  had  fallen  from  above  from  time  to  time. 
He  concluded  that  the  young  buccaneer  had  hidden  among 
these  during  his  own  struggle  to  regain  the  bank.  It 
never  occurred  to  him  that  he  might  be  dead. 

It  was  nearly  sundown  when  he  untied  his  horse  and 
started  to  drive  back  to  the  city.  It  was  quite  dark  and 
the  child  was  asleep  before  he  reached  the  lighted  streets, 
and  no  one  noticed  that  the  man  in  the  shadow  of  the 
carriage  top  was  without  a  hat.  He  drove  to  his  home ; 
let  himself  in  with  his  latch-key;  gave  the  child  to  his 
wife,  telling  her  to  take  care  of  it  and  promising  to  re 
turn  and  explain  everything,  seized  a  hat  from  the  rack, 
drove  to  the  stable  where  his  horse  was  boarded,  and  then 
having  become  absorbed  in  the  possibilities  of  his  new  en 
terprise,  rushed  into  a  restaurant,  bolted  a  few  mouthfuls, 
went  to  his  office,  and  lighting  the  gas  sat  down  to  plan  for 
its  achievement.  It  was  past  eleven  when  he  returned  to 
his  home.  Turning  up  the  gas,  he  went  to  his  wife's  bed 
room  and  began  hastily  packing  a  valise. 

"  I  shall  have  to  be  absent  three  or  four  days,  perhaps 


HOW  GIVING  BLESSES   THE   GIVER.  395 

a  week,"  he  said  in  explanation.  "  There  isn't  a  minute 
to  lose.  I  must  catch  the  twelve-o'clock  train.  If  every 
thing  turns  out  well,  I  shall  make  more  in  a  fortnight  than 
I  ever  have  in  a  year  before.  Good-by." 

He  leaned  over  the  bed  and  kissed  his  wife.  His  face 
was  flushed  with  excitement,  and  his  eyes  burned  with  the 
glow  of  anticipated  triumph.  His  wife  received  his  ca 
ress  with  indifference. 

"What  shall  I  do  with  that— that— child?  "  she  asked. 

"Oh,  the  little  girl  I  brought  home?     How  is  she?  " 

"Well  enough,  except  for  a  few  bruises.  Who  is  she? 
Where  did  you " 

"  Don't  ask  me  now.  I  haven't  time  to  explain.  Take 
care  of  her — do  what  you  please  with  her." 

"What's  her  name?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Wilton  Kishu,"  said  the  wife,  sitting  up  in  bed  to  add 
impressiveness  to  her  words,  "don't  try  to  deceive  me;  I 
know  that  is  not  true." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  answered  the  husband,  willfully 
or  unconsciously  misconstruing  her  words.  "Send  her 
home  if  you  know  her.  Good-by!  " 

Mrs.  Kishu  heard  the  front  door  close  behind  her  de 
parting  husband  and  sank  back  upon  her  pillow  to  weep 
bitter  tears. 


CHAPTER   XXXVI. 

HOW    GIVING    BLESSES    THE    GIVER. 

IT  was  a  month  before  Mr.  Kishu  returned  to  his  home. 
As  is  so  often  the  case  in  business  matters,  the  exigencies 
of  his  new  enterprise  detained  him  longer  than  he  ex- 


396  Ml'RVALE   EASTMAX. 

pected.  He  had  been  hurried  from  point  to  point  by  the 
imperative  demands  of  the  situation,  but  with  the  dogged 
resolution  which  characterized  him,  he  had  never  aban 
doned  the  project,  and  had  at  length  succeeded.  He  had 
raised  the  money;  had  found  every  heir;  had  secured  an 
unimpeachable  title,  and  negotiated  the  right  of  way  with 
the  president  of  the  company,  upon  terms  sufficient  to  re 
imburse  him  for  his  investment  even  after  the  "divvy11 
made  with  the  official,  and  leave  the  rest  of  the  property 
clear  profit.  It  was  his  first  considerable  real  estate  deal. 
He  had  always  had  a  fancy — a  sort  of  instinct — for  such 
operations,  and  this  opened  the  way  for  the  great  Flat- 
iron  Tract  speculation,  which  first  lifted  him  into  the  rank 
of  those  requiring  seven  figures  to  express  their  wealth. 

How  had  he  raised  the  money  to  carry  out  the  deal? 
This  was  a  question  many  asked,  a  question  neither  his 
book-keeper  nor  his  banker  could  answer.  He  was  the 
only  one  who  knew.  His  bank  account  had  not  been 
lessened  by  a  dollar,  and  his  name  was  on  no  unpaid  note. 
Naturally  enough,  Mr.  Kishu  was  happy  when  he  returned 
to  his  office  and  found  that  his  business  had  progressed 
satisfactorily  in  his  absence.  Yet  when  his  clerk  left  him 
alone  at  his  desk,  he  trembled  as  he  thought  of  the  wrong 
he  had  done — not  with  fear,  but  with  a  sort  of  blind  grat 
itude  for  his  escape.  He  was  a  man  of  an  essentially  re 
ligious  nature,  only  his  religion  was  colored  by  a  supreme 
selfishness,  so  that  he  thought  nothing  of  the  incongruity 
of  breathing  a  prayer  of  thankfulness,  not  for  his  escape 
from  temptation,  but  for  having  been  preserved  from  the 
consequences  of  the  wrong  by  which  he  had  profited.  For 
he  had  escaped — there  was  no  doubt  of  that.  All  the 
evidences  of  his  evil  act  were  here  in  his  own  hand. 

He  took  a  paper  box   out  of  his  pocket,  removed  a 


//()//'   GIVING   /?/./? .S'.S'A'.?    THE   CrVEK.  397 

bunch  of  pink-hued  cotton  from  it,  and  emptied  out  into 
his  hand  a  magnificent  opal.  How  it  flashed  and  glowed 
and  burned  in  flickering,  changeful  iridescence  as  it  lay 
upon  his  palm  and  the  sun  fell  upon  it  through  the  win 
dow!  He  turned  and  closed  the  blind.  It  made  him 
nervous  to  think  that  any  one  might  see  the  gem  in  his 
possession.  Then  he  locked  the  door  of  his  inner  room, 
lighted  a  lamp,  took  out  a  curious  lead-colored  trinket 
from  a  drawer  in  his  desk,  touched  a  spring  and  opened 
it,  held  a  part  of  it  over  the  flame  of  the  lamp  until  a 
black,  frothy  substance  rose  and  bubbled  over  its  edge. 

In  this  he  hid  the  opal,  watched  it  cool,  pressed  the 
black,  crystalline  cement  back  even  with  the  sides,  closed 
the  case,  held  it  a  moment  over  the  flame,  then  placed  it 
in  his  pocket. 

"  There,"  he  said  to  himself,  "  I  defy  anybody  to  prove 
that  has  been  out  of  its  place.  Now  I  will  find  it:  owner 
and  return  it.  Perhaps  he  doesn't  know  what  it  contains 
and  would  be  glad  to  sell  it." 

Mr.  Kishu's  face  beamed  with  satisfaction.  He  did 
not  know  that  in  a  city  a  hundred  miles  away,  a  man  was 
at  that  very  moment  filing  away  in  a  cabinet  the  two 
parts  of  a  wax  impression  of  the  gem  just  restored  to  its 
place,  and  with  it  the  name  and  address  of  Wilton  Kishu. 

"  It  is  one  of  the  things  it  is  well  enough  to  have  a  rec 
ord  of,"  said  the  dealer  in  gems.  "  It  may  be  all  right, 
and  then  again — well— one  knows  what  he  does  know. 
There's  no  doubt  that  has  been  in  the  hands  of  more  than 
one  of  our  people  before  now.  Somehow,  it  seems  as  if 
1  ought  to  know  it — like  an  old  friend,  half-forgotten-  but 
I  can't  recall  it.  Anyhow,  there  is  evidence  that  for  thirty 
days  it  was  in  my  hands  as  security  for  two  thousand  dol 
lars.  Perhaps  some  time  it  may  come  back.  Gems  are 


398  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 

queer  things;  men  and  peoples  die,  but  stones  live  on 
forever.  Cleopatra  may  have  drunk  her  pearls,  but  I  have 
no  doubt  her  diamonds  are  on  some  lady's  fingers  or  in 
some  dealer's  window  to-day.  A  man  able  to  cut  his 
name  on  one  would  be  immortal.  Of  course,  in  a  sense, 
the  man  who  works  and  polishes  a  gem  does  that,  and  I 
ought  to  know  who  cut  this  one,  or  at  least  when  it  was 
done;  but  somehow  I  cannot  fix  it." 

The  pawnbroker  was  slipping  the  drawer  into  his  cabinet 
just  as  the  successful  speculator  opened  the  door  of  his 
•office  and  called  for  the  file  of  daily  papers  for  the  month 
previous.  Mr.  Kishu  always  read  the  papers,  and  if  not 
at  home  when  they  came  out,  went  carefully  through  them 
on  his  return.  That  was  the  reason  he  always  knew  what 
had  occurred  in  the  city. 

He  found  many  things  to  interest  him  in  this  file,  and 
cut  out  a  dozen  slips  which  he  placed  in  his  pocketbook. 
One  was  of  "A  Lost  Child;"  another  offering  a  reward 
for  "A  Pewter  or  German  Silver  Trinket,"  of  peculiar 
shape.  Another,  an  article  moralizing  on  the  fact  that 
not  a  trace  of  the  lost  child  had  been  found,  and  that  it 
was  now  quite  given  up  that  she  had  been  murdered. 
The  mother  was  almost  insane  over  the  mystery  attach 
ing  to  the  child's  fate.  The  police  of  the  city  were  se 
verely  blamed.  In  two  other  cases,  the  child  had  been 
returned  under  circumstances  that  indicated  the  exist 
ence  of  an  organized  band  of  kidnappers  in  the  city.  Mr. 
Kishu's  heart  warmed  with  satisfaction  as  he  thought 
what  joy  he  would  give  to  the  bereaved  parents  when  he 
should  return  to  them  their  lost  darling.  Perhaps  in  their 
rapture  they  would  ask  him  to  retain  the  trinket  as  a 
keepsake.  Well — it  would  depend  on  circumstances  what 
he  would  do  in  that  case.  On  the  whole,  he  was  well  sat- 


HOW   GIVING   BLESSES    THE   GIVER.  399 

isfied  with  himself  when  he  started  homeward  from  his 
office  that  afternoon.  The  good  he  intended  to  do  quite 
hid  from  view  the  wrong  he  had  done,  which  indeed  was 
unintentional — or  nearly  so. 

His  wife  received  him  with  strange  fervor,  though  there 
was  a  tearful,  pleading  look  about  her  eyes.  She  listened 
to  his  apology  for  his  prolonged  absence  with  quiet  re- 
proachfulness.  He  had  never  been  accustomed  to  con 
sult  her  in  regard  to  his  business  transactions  and  did  not 
enter  into  details  now.  He  only  told  her  of  his  success. 
She  answered  his  enthusiasm  with  a  sigh.  But  when  he 
asked  for  the  child  he  had  brought  home,  he  was  greeted 
with  a  flood  of  tears.  At  length,  in  response  to  his  con 
tinued  importunity,  the  outraged  wife  sprang  to  her  feet 
and  said,  shaking  her  trembling  finger  in  his  face: 

"  Wilton  Kishu,  don't  you  never  mention  that  child  to 
me  again — never!  Do  you  hear?  I  don't  want,  to  re 
proach  you.  I  am  willing  to  hide  your  shame,  but  if  you 
ever  mention  it  again,  I  will  kill  myself!  Do  you  see 
that?  "  She  held  toward  him  a  little  vial  labeled  "  Strych 
nia."  "I  got  it  on  purpose,"  she  exclaimed,  "and  no 
matter  when  it  may  be,  now  or  twenty  years  from  now,  if 
you  ever  speak  of  that  child,  or  so  much  as  look  at  the 
woman  you  have  compromised  yourself  with  so  shame 
fully — that  very  day,  Wilton  Kishu,  there  will  be  an  in 
quest  in  your  house  and  the  world  will  learn  the  cause  of 
my  death !  " 

The  woman  was  almost  insane  in  her  tragic  vehemence. 

"  But,  Maria "  began  the  amazed  husband. 

"  Not  another  word!  "  she  interrupted.  "  I  have  taken 
care  of  her — buried  her!  You  will  never  find  her — you 
could  not  if  you  tried.  But  you  need  not  fear;  she  will 
be  well  looked  after.  I  have  taken  care  of  that.  She 


466  j/r 

will  be  well  brought  up,  and  never  know  that  she  has  any 
thing  to  be  ashamed  of.  I  have  provided  for  her.  I  sold 
all  my  jewels  to  raise  money  to  do  it.  I  could  not  find 
her  myself,  now;  I  don't  know  where  she  is;  but  she  will 
never  know  want.  She  will  have  a  good  home,  a  Christian 
home.  Is  not  that  enough?  " 

"  But,  Maria — you — I — there  is  a  mistake,  Maria " 

faltered  the  astounded  man  in  real  distress. 

"  Don't,  Wilton,  don't!  "  moaned  the  self-deceived  wife. 
"  Do  not  add  falsehood  to  your — your — other  sins.  I  have 
forgiven  you;  but  do  not  try  to  deceive  me.  I  cannot 
bear  it,  indeed,  I  cannot,  Wilton.  Just  at  this  time,  too! 
Oh,  if  you  had  only  known — I  am  sure  you  could  not 
have  been  so  cruel!  " 

She  flung  her  arms  about  his  neck,  muttered  some  half- 
audible  words,  and  hung  moaning  and  weeping  on  his 
breast.  Instantly,  the  man's  harshness  changed  to  tender 
ness.  Surprise  and  gratification  took  the  place  of  the 
frown  upon  his  brow,  and  his  reproaches  gave  way  to  ca* 
resses.  Nevertheless,  he  slept  very  little  that  night,  being 
troubled  by  the  specter  of  the  wrong  he  had  done — or 
was  it  by  apprehension  of  what  might  befall  him  if  it  were 
discovered?  On  the  next  morning  when  he  went  to  his 
office  he  dropped  in  at  his  lawyer's,  and  while  he  waited 
took  up  a  book  on  criminal  law  and  read  of  larceny,  grand 
and  petty,  and  then  about  kidnapping.  It  gave  him  a 
very  uncomfortable  sensation. 

He  thought  of  making  a  clean  breast  of  it  to  the  law 
yer;  but  it  occurred  to  him  that  thirty  days  had  elapsed, 
and'  no  one  had  suspected  him — why  not  thirty  years? 
Crimes  were  not  always  found  out;  and  if  they  were,  the 
statute  of  limitations  was  often  a  bar  to  punishment.  He 
asked  some  questions  carelessly,  to  find  out  how  long  it 


(,'/ 1  r\<;  /v  .ESSES  THE  GITER.        4^1 

would  be  before  the  law  would  shield  him  from  the  pen 
alty  of  his  wrong.  It  would  be  a  long  time.  He  would 
do  what  he  could  to  make  up  for  the  harm  he  had  done 
— unless — would  it  be  safe  to  call  attention  to  himself? 
Would  it  not  be  better  to  wait  and  take  the  chances  of 
disclosure?  After  all,  he  had  really  done  no  one  any 
harm ;  only  events  had  conspired  to  make  him  seem  a 
malefactor.  He  thought  the  matter  over  again  and  again, 
as  the  days  went  on,  and  could  come  to  no  conclusion. 
Yet  his  conscience  was  not  easy.  Sometimes  he  thought 
he  would  compel  his  wife  to  disclose  the  whereabouts  of 
the  child,  but  he  could  not  bring  himself  to  imperil  her 
life  by  such  excitement  as  he  knew  any  recurrence  to  the 
subject  would  produce.  So  the  days  went  by  and  his 
feeling  grew  less  acute.  Months  passed,  and  then  his 
daughter  was  born.  His  conscience  still  disturbed  him, 
but  only  at  intervals.  , 

After  a  time,  he  began  to  notice  a  face,  which  some 
how  seemed  familiar,. peering  at  him  through  the  window 
of  his  office,  and  now  and  then  caught  sight  of  a  diminu 
tive  form  dragging  itself  away  on  crutches.  One  day  the 
truth  flashed  upon  him.  He  ran  out,  caught  the  retreat 
ing  figure,  and  dragged  it  back  into  the  office. 

"Don't split  on  me, mister,  don't!  "  shrieked  the  fright 
ened  boy.  "  I  didn't  go  to  do  the  kid  no  harm ;  you 
knows  that.  It  wasn't  my  fault  that  she  got  drownded, 
neither.  I  hadn't  no  more  idee  uv  that  bank  givin'  way 
than  you — not  a  bit!  I  think  I've  been  hit  hard  enough 
for  it,  too." 

"What's  your  name?  Don't  lie  to  me!"  said  Mr. 
Kishu,  sternly. 

"  I  ain't  goin'  to,  sir — Joe  Lampson." 

"  Well,  Joe,  I  can't  make  any  promises  in  this  matter 
26 


402  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

until  you  tell  me  all  about  it.  You  will  have  to  tell  me 
who  were  with  you  in  the  kidnapping  business,  if  you  ex 
pect  to  get  off  yourself." 

"There  wasn't  nobody,  mister;  jes  me  alone.  I  had  a 
kind  of  cave  there  in  the  bank,  just  under  the  bushes,  an1 
I  thought  it  would  be  a  big  thing  to  carry  off  a  kid  now 
an'  then,  an'  bring  'em  back  when  a  reward  was  offered. 
I'd  read  about  it,  an'  it  seemed  easy  enough  to  do.  I 
didn't  'low  to  hurt  'em,  but  just  change  their  clothes,  an' 
take  'em  back  to  their  folks  an'  ask  if  them  was  their  kids. 
I'd  done  it  two  or  three  times  with  little  ones.  I  didn't 
know  how  old  this  gal  was,  or  I  wouldn't  ever  have  tried 
it  with  her." 

"  How  did  you  come  to  pitch  upon  her,  anyhow?  " 

Mr.  Kishu  wondered  if  the  boy  knew  of  the  trinket  in 
the  child's  hand. 

"Can't  tell;  I  never  seed  her  till  you  picked  her  up, 
drove  out  close  to  my  den,  an'  left  her  there  asleep. 
S'pose  'twas  just  the  chance  that  set  me  wild." 

"You  didn't  know  where  she  lived,  then?  " 

"  Hadn't  the  least  idee,  sir." 

Mr.  Kishu  was  silent,  wondering  what  he  had  best  do 
in  regard  to  this  unconscious  accomplice  in  his  crime. 

"  Didn't  they  find  it,  sir?  "  asked  the  boy  in  a  hoarse 
whisper. 

"Find  what?" 

"  The  body,  sir — the  corpsus,  you  know?  " 

"You  don't  say  the  child  was  killed!  "  exclaimed  the 
man  in  assumed  surprise  and  horror.  "  I  didn't  know 
that." 

"  Must  have  been  drownded,"  said  the  boy  doggedly. 
"Didn't  you  hear  of  it?" 

"  I  had  all  I  could  do  to  save  myself,  and  when  I  man- 


Cn~ ING  BLESSES    THE    GITER.  403 

aged  to  get  up  on  the  bank  again,  you  were  gone.  I 
thought  you  had  hid  the  girl.  It  was  about  dark,  and 
when  I  got  home  I  found  I  must  go  away  that  very  night. 
It  was  a  month  before  I  got  back.  I  should  have  told 
the  police  that  night,  but  that  would  have  kept  me  here 
as  a  witness,  and  I  thought  you  would  take  the  girl  home 
after  the  fright  you  had  received." 

It  was  a  very  lame  story  which  the  rich  man  told  to  cover 
up  his  own  wrong,  but  the  frightened  lad  did  not  notice 
its  inconsistencies. 

"  I  couldn't  do  nobody  no  harm  ner  good  then,  an'  the 
doctors  says  I  never  will  no  more.  I  was  a-layin'  down 
there  on  the  rocks  with  a  broken  back,  I  was.  It  wasn't 
broke  short  off,  but  it  won't  never  be  no  more  use  ter  me, 
the  doctors  says,  ner  my  feet  neither.  I  come  to  after  a 
while,  but  the  gal  wasn't  there,  ner  you  neither — only 
your  hat.  I  thought  maybe  you  was  drownded  too,  an'  I 
crawled  out  an'  threw  the  hat  in  the  river,  so  they  wouldn't 
accuse  me  of  a  hand  in  it,  ye  know.  After  a  while  I  hol 
lered  to  some  folks  comin'  up  the  river  in  a  boat,  an'  they 
took  me  the  horspital.  When  I  seed  you,  I  was  a-hopin' 
you'd  saved  the  gal,  too,  though  of  course  that  wasn't 
likely." 

"  What  are  you  doing  now?  " 

"Nothin';  I  can't  never  do  nothin'  no  more." 

"Poor  boy!  "  said  Mr.  Kishu  in  real  compassion. 

The  crippled  gamin  looked  up  in  surprise,  and  then 
twisted  himself  round  in  an  easier  position,  resting  on  one 
hand.  The  man  stooped  down,  picked  him  up,  and  set 
him  in  one  of  the  chairs.  Then  he  locked  the  office  door, 
and  walked  back  and  forth  a  long  time  thinking  what 
course  he  had  better  pursue. 

"Can  you  read?"  he  asked  at  length,  stopping  before 
the  boy. 


464  .i/rA' /',//./•.   /-v/.v y.]/. /.\. 

"  I  could,  but  the  doctors  says  this  ere  hurt,  has  jes 
knocked  my  eyes  asjcew,  so  I'd  have  to  wear  some  sort 
of  glasses  made  fer  'em  special,  an'  tairTt  very  sure  they'd 
work  then.  I  can  see  big  things  an'  manage  to  git  along 
the  street,  but  it's  as  much  by  feelin'  as  by  sight." 

"  Where  are  your  parents?  " 

"  Don't  know,  sir,"  sullenly. 

"Don't  know?" 

"  Wai,  dad  he's  in  fer  crackin'  a  safe,  and  mam — she's 
dead — died  o'  drink,  I  s'pose." 

"  How  do  you  expect  to  live?  " 

"  Same  as  others  that  can't  work  and  don't  have  no 
money— have  to  steal." 

"  Suppose  I  should  put  you  where  you  would  be  treated 
well,  and  taught  something  by  which  you  could  earn  an 
honest  living." 

"An'  never  tell  on  me?"  asked  the  boy  eagerly. 

"  I  would  never  tell  as  long  as  you  did  your  duty." 

"  I'll  do  the  best  I  kin,"  said  the  boy  stolidly. 

"  I  don't  see  that  any  good  would  result  from  having 
you  imprisoned." 

"  It's  a  hangin'  matter."  The  boy  spoke  with  that  posi- 
tiveness  which  familiarity  with  crime  brings  in  regard  to 
the  penalty. 

"Or  hanged,  either,"  continued  Mr.  Kishu. 

"  Wouldn't  do  a  bit  of  good,"  rejoined  the  boy  assent- 
ingly. 

"On  the  other  hand,"  resumed  the  man,  "you  might 
become  a  useful  citizen  and  redeem  your  youthful  error, 
if  given  a  chance." 

"  I  s'pose  I  might,"  answered  the  boy,  not  very  hope 
fully. 

"  If  you  didn't  I  could  inform  on  you  at  any  time.     I 


1/0 II'   GIVING  BLESSES    THE    GIVER*  405 

suppose  you  know  the  law  never  lets  up  on  murder.  One 
never  gets  beyond  the  danger  of  prosecution." 

"Never?" 

"  Never." 

"  I  believe  I'd  ruther  take  my  medicine  now  an'  be  done 
with  it,"  said  the  boy,  with  a  long  breath. 

"  But  I  will  never  breathe  a  whisper  in  regard  to  it,  if 
you  do  nothing  more  of  a  criminal  .character." 

"  Wai— I'll  try  it,"  answered  the  boy  dejectedly. 

From  that  moment  Wilton  Kishu  provided  for  the 
crippled  young  law-breaker.  He  provided  for  him  liber 
ally,  too.  All  that  skill  could  do  for  body  and  brain  was 
done  for  this  vicious  foundling,  but  he  was  never  allowed 
to  forget  that  his  benefactor  held  his  life  in  his  hands. 
When  he  left  school,  Mr.  Kishu  made  him  his  clerk.  He 
gave  him  fair  wages  and  was  outwardly  considerate  enough 
of  his  feelings ;  but  in  a  thousand  ways  he  managed  almost 
daily  to  convey  to  him  a  knowledge  of  the  fact  that  he 
was  under  espionag'e,  and  that  any  hour  the  ax  might 
fall  upon  his  neck.  This  was  not  the  result  of  any  in 
tended  cruelty  on  the  part  cf  the  employer,  who  was 
really  much  attached  to  the  singular  being  whose  varied 
accomplishments  had  become  almost  essential  to  his  com 
fort  as  well  as  his  prosperity.  It  was  only  because  Kishu's 
own  wrong  made  him  a  coward,  and  he  feared  more  and 
more,  as  the  years  went  by,  any  connection  of  his  name 
with  the  almost  forgotten  tragedy  which  had  made  a  happy 
home  desolate. 

Out  of  these  conditions  had  resulted  "  Goggles."  Mr. 
Kishu  was  entitled  to  the  credit  he  not  infrequently 
hinted  was  his  due :  he  had  saved  his  clerk  from  a  life  of 
crime. 


•o6  MURTALE   EASTMAN. 


CHAPTER   XXXVII. 

THE   PRODUCT    OF   EVOLUTION. 

MURVALE  EASTMAN  thought  he  had  cast  Lilian  Kishu 
out  of  his  life.  Heart  and  brain  had  been  of  late  too  full 
for  love.  Constant  care  for  the  good  and  ills  of  others 
had  crowded  out  all  thought  of  self.  Day  by  day,  he  saw 
the  way  opening  before  him  in  unexpected  places  for  the 
sowing  of  seed  which  he  trusted  might  yield  rich  harvests 
of  good.  From  morning  until  night,  head  and  hand  were 
busy  in  devising  new  plans  and  in  doing  new  work.  For 
a  time  he  tried  to  keep  the  Church  and  the  League  apart, 
to  devote  certain  hours  to  each;  but  he  soon  found  that 
they  overlapped  and  intermingled  so  that  he  could  not 
say  where  one  ended  and  the  other  began.  Both  were 
God's  work,  each  supplemental  and  necessary  to  the  other. 
The  Church  could  not  do  the  work  of  the  League; 
the  League  had  no  desire  to  assume  the  function  of  the 
Church.  Sometimes  the  edges  grated  a  little  harshly; 
some  zealous  believers  feared  that  the  Church  was  not 
getting  its  share  of  the  credit;  some  sensitive  Leaguers 
feared  that  the  Church  was  monopolizing  all  the  praise. 

This  was  to  be  expected.  It  is  the  habit  of  earthly 
mechanism  to  run  dry  and  creak  at  the  bearings,  no  mat 
ter  whether  it  is  material  or  organic,  made  in  the  shop  or 
forged  in  the  brain,  and  the  chief  business  of  the  one 
having  such  machinery  in  charge  is  to  oil  the  bearings. 
This  is,  perhaps,  especially  true  of  what  may  be  termed 


THE   PRODUCT  OF  EVOLUTION.  407 

social  enginery,  whether  religious  or  political,  because  in 
this  the  levers  and  pulleys,  shafts  and  bearings,  are  not 
only  more  difficult  of  adjustment  than  the  parts  of  a  ma 
terial  machine,  but  each  one  is  endowed  with  individuality 
and  is  expected  not  merely  to  do  its  relative  part  of  the 
work,  but  to  supply  some  portion  of  the  motive  power  as 
well.  The  ability  to  run  such  a  machine  and  run  it  well, 
we  call  executive  power.  It  is  the  same  quality,  whether 
found  in  pastor  or  politician.  The  successful  pastor  would 
always  have  made  a  successful  politician.  The  intellect 
ual  qualities  of  a  good  bishop  and  a  great  party  leader 
are  identical.  Both  must  be  watchful  of  the  bearings  of 
a  great  social  machine,  and  both  must  be  able  to  apply 
the  proper  lubricant  the  instant  friction  is  developed. 

It  is  this  executive  quality  that  guides  the  world  in  the 
march  of  progress.  Invention  and  administration,  the 
power  to  adapt  means  to  ends,  and  the  capacity  to  ob 
serve  routine  and  attend  to  detail,  may  accompany  execu 
tive  quality,  but  it  is  not  always  nor  often  that  they  do. 
Washington,  Lincoln,  and  Grant  were  the  great  executive 
minds  of  our  history.  Yet  Washington  was  without  in 
vention  or  adaptiveness;  Lincoln  was  impatient  of  rou 
tine  ;  and  detail  was  irksome  to  Grant.  Each,  however, 
had  in  a  supreme  degree  the  executive  quality  which  in 
sures  successful  leadership.  Washington  remedied  trouble 
some  friction  by  casting  the  work  on  another  part  of  the 
machine;  Lincoln,  by  a  matchless  skill  in  the  balancing 
of  forces  which  made  one  hindrance  supply  the  lubricant 
that  made  another  harmless ;  Grant  secured  harmony  by 
unhesitating  removal  of  the  cause  of  discord.  All  had 
their  enemies,  b.ut  no  one  was  ever  able  to  foil  them  in 
the  great  designs  they  had  in  charge. 

The  executive  mind  is  not  always  pre-eminent  in  the 


4o8  M  67v'  /  'A /./•;    /..-/  .V TMA  X. 

general  esteem.  Eloquence,  valor,  even  rashness  and 
impracticability,  may  often  rank  above  it  in  popularity. 
The  clamor  of  false  pretense  not  seldom  overshadows  the 
record  of  actual  achievement.  The  real  test  of  executive 
ability  is  the  power  to  subordinate  all  of  the  component 
forces  of  a  man's  epoch  or  environment,  no  matter  how 
seemingly  discordant  they  may  be,  and  make  them  con 
tribute  each  its  full  quota  of  strength  to  a  common  end. 
Murvale  Eastman's  mind  was  essentially  executive  in  its 
quality.  He  led  rather  than  directed.  His  church  seemed 
to  run  itself;  and  the  credit  for  its  success  was  generally 
given  to  the  membership  rather  than  the  pastor.  The 
League  developed  a  half-dozen  men  of  more  brilliant  and 
striking  qualities;  but  he  kept  each  one  in  his  own  groove, 
prevented  conflict  and  interference,  and  secured  the  un 
questioning  loyalty  and  devotion  of  each  to  himself.  How 
he  did  it  no  one  knew.  He  was  himself  unconscious  both 
of  method  and  result.  .  His  eye  was  fixed  upon  the  end. 
No  wonder  the  task  of  supervision  and  adaptation  had 
occupied  his  thought  to  the  exclusion  of  self;  that  he  had 
almost  forgotten  the  love  he  had  renounced  and  the  scar 
it  had  left  upon  his  heart. 

It  was  only  when  he  saw  Lilian  walking  with  Frank 
Marsh  and  read,  with  the  instinct  not  merely  of  the  lover, 
but  of  one  having  an  intuitive  knowledge  of  human  na 
ture,  the  language  of  each  gesture  and  the  emotion  which 
showed' upon  her  face,  that  he  realized  the  truth  which 
would  have  been  patent  to  his  observation  long  before 
had  he  once  dreamed  of  finding  in  her  heart  anything  but 
a  true  response  to  his  own  passionate  regard.  He  had 
not  sought  to  analyze  the  woman  he  had  loved,  and  had 
none  of  that  desire  which  affects  sometimes  even  brave 
natures,  to  possess  her  unwillingly  or  iu  uciiaace  of  a 


THE   PRODUCT   OF  EVOLUTION. 


409 


stronger  inclination  on  her  part.  He  had  given  her  up 
because  she  had  made  it  plain  to  him  that  he  was  not 
fitted  to  secure  her  happiness.  So  at  least  he  had  con 
strued  her  language  and  demeanor.  Strangely  enough, 
he  had  not  once  thought  he  might  suffer  when  he  should 
see  her  giving  to  another  the  love  she  had  denied  to  him. 
Heaven  is  often  merciful  in  dividing  our  woes.  He  saw 
it  all  when  his  eye  fell  upon  them  as  they  turned  off  the 
crowded  thoroughfare,  and  he  had  waited,  unable  to  go 
away,  his  eyes  riveted  upon  them  until  Lilian  returned. 
Instinctively  he  read  the  intensity  of  her  emotion,  and 
crossed  the  street  to  intercept  her  at  the  corner  more  from 
a  feeling  of  pity  than  from  any  conscious  desire  to  meet 
her.  He  felt  no  rancor,  only  a  tender  pity  that  impelled 
him  still  to  proffer  kindness  to  the  woman  to  whom  he 
had  once  hoped  to  devote  all  the  days  of  his  life ;  for 
Murvale  Eastman  was  one  of  those  whose  love  did  not 
consist  in  the  hope  of  enjoyment,  but  found  its  highest 
expression  in  the  desire  to  give  happiness  to  the  object 
of  its  devotion. 

While  regretting  that  Lilian's  inclination  did  not  run 
with  his,  it  did  not  once  occur  to  him  to  thwart  it.  His 
love  could  have  but  one  purpose,  her  happiness.  And 
that  happiness — he  thought  he  saw  clearly  on  what  it  de 
pended.  So  as  she  walked  by  his  side  and  made  up  her 
mind  that  she  would  submit,  not  altogether  unwillingly, 
to  what  she  deemed  her  fate,  he  was  wondering  if  any 
obstacle  stood  in  the  way  of  her  love  for  another,  and  if 
so,  what  he  could  do  to  remove  it.  When  she  entered 
her  father's  office,  he  bent  his  steps  to  the  sanctum  of  the 
editor  of  the  Breeze. 

Just  outside  the  editor's  room  he  met  Frank  Marsh. 
The  latter  showed  some  surprise  at  the  rencontre,  but  sa 
luted  him  pleasantly  as  he  passed  down  the  stairs. 


410  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

"Take  a  seat,"  said  Searle,  after  the  customary  greet 
ing.  "  Excuse  me  a  moment.  You  may  find  something 
to  look  at  there." 

He  pushed  a  chair,  heaped  up  with  exchanges,  toward 
his  visitor  as  he  spoke,  and  almost  before  the  words  were 
out  of  his  mouth,  the  managing  editor  of  the  Breeze  was 
absorbed  once  more  in  his  work,  which  had  evidently 
been  interrupted  before  the  arrival  of  his  present  visitor. 

The  room  Stearns  occupied  was  neither  ornate  nor  pre 
tentious.  A  great  roller-top  desk  with  many  pigeon-holes 
stood  open  before  him.  Between  him  and  the  window, 
which  almost  spanned  the  room's  width,  was  the  chair  in 
which  he  had  ensconced  his  visitor,  with  another  on  which 
he  had  thrown  the  morning's  exchanges.  There  was  no 
other  furniture  in  the  room.  The  managing  editor  had 
learned  that  chairs  induce  delay,  and  he  did  not  mean 
that  his  visitors  should  be  tempted  to  sit  down.  Short 
stories  were  the  form  of  literature  most  pleasing  to  him, 
when  he  had  to  listen  to  them,  at  least.  The  walls  of  the 
room  were  bare  save  for  some  curiously  intermingled 
prints,  the  portraits  of  a  poet,  a  politician,  a  candidate, 
and  above  the  desk  a  photograph  of  the  man  who  had 
been  the  editor's  first  friend,  a  genius  who  had  wrought 
his  own  destruction,  but  whose  likeness,  with  character 
istic  pertinacity,  Searle  kept  above  his  desk. 

Murvale  Eastman  took  his  seat  and  watched  the  hard- 
faced,  gray-eyed  man  at  his  work — the  most  incompre 
hensible  and  marvelous  task  ever  conceived  of,  to  the  un 
initiated — the  creation  of  a  great  newspaper.  He  was 
engaged  in  the  first  step  of  this  mysterious  undertaking, 
determining  what  might  go  in.  Six  or  eight  hours  after 
ward  he  would  determine  with  a  rapidity  even  more  incredi 
ble,  that  still  more  difficult  question,  what  must  come  out. 


THE  PRODUCT  OF  EVOLUTION.  41 1 

On  the  desk  before  him,  heaped  almost  to  its  top,  lay 
the  preliminary  reports  of  his  subordinates,  suggestions  of 
available  matter,  and  estimates  of  space.  He  held  a 
heavy  pencil  with  a  blue  lead  in  one  end  and  a  red  one 
in  the  other.  With  a  rapidity  quite  inconceivable  to  the 
beholder,  he  ran  through  page  after  page  of  the  "  matter," 
and  indicated  in  bold,  heavy  strokes,  erasure,  condensa 
tion,  re-working,  whatever  was  to  be  done  to  fit  it  to  its 
place  in  the  next  morning's  dish  of  news  which  was  to  be 
served  to  the  readers  of  the  Breeze.  Men  came  and  went, 
a  ceaseless  stream,  it  seemed  to  the  on-looker.  Some 
times  there  were  three  or  four  at  once  in  the  narrow  room, 
waiting  to  ask  questions,  make  suggestions,  or  receive 
orders.  Still  the  editor  worked  on,  sometimes  pausing  to 
look  up,  sometimes  not  removing  his  eyes  from  the  sheet 
on  which  he  was  engaged,  but  all  the  time  hearing,  deter 
mining,  directing. 

By-and-by  the  heap  before  him  had  almost  disappeared. 
A  half-dozen  subordinates  had  received  back  their  work 
with  verbal  suggestions  to  each  in  regard  to  it.  More 
than  half  the  pile  of  "matter"  had  gone — into  the  waste- 
basket;  one  or  two  pieces  had  been  laid  aside,  as  if  for 
fuller  consideration. 

"Well,  that  is  over  with,"  said  Stearns  at  length,  rising, 
stretching  his  arms,  and  throwing  back  his  head  to  relieve 
that  weariness  which  is  sure  to  follow  prolonged  and  in 
tense  mental  effort.  "  Now  we  can  have  a  little  time  to 
ourselves." 

He  went  to  the  door,  sprung  the  latch,  and  returning 
sat  down  in  his  office  chair,  swung  it  around  toward  the 
young  minister,  whom  he  regarded  with  that  frank  confi 
dence  by  which  men  testify  the  highest  esteem  for  each 
Pther. 


4I2  MURl'ALE    EASTMAX. 

"  You  did  not  read  all  that  pile  of  manuscript  you  have 
gone  through  with  since  I  came  in?"  asked  Eastman, 
curiously,  but  with  evident  admiration  in  his  tone,  of  the 
power  to  perform  the  feat  he  had  witnessed. 

"  No  and  yes,"  answered  the  other  with  a  smile,  pick 
ing  up  one  of  the  slips  he  had  thrown  aside  as  if  he  found 
it  unnatural  to  talk  without  something  in  his  hands,  "  or 
rather  I  hardly  know  whether  I  did  or  did  not.  I  know 
what  is  in  them  and  have  a  pretty  fair  idea  what  every 
page  and  column  of  to-morrow's  issue  will  contain." 

"  It  does  not  seem  possible  that  you  should  have  read 
them  all  in  so  short  a  time." 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  the  editor.  "  Men  do  strange 
things  when  they  have  to ;  or  rather  the  necessity  of  ac 
complishing  certain  results  in  a  limited  time  generates  a 
capacity  to  do  what  would  otherwise  be  deemed  impossi 
ble.  Of  course,  I  knew  a  good  deal  about  what  was  in 
that  pile  before  I  began  on  it;  but  I  suppose " 

He  stooped  and  took  a  crumpled  sheet  from  the  waste 
basket. 

"Look  at  that,  now,"  he  continued.  "Would  you  say 
the  man  who  made  those  marks  had  read  it?  " 

"  Unquestionably,"  answered  Eastman  in  surprise. 
"  Sentences  have  been  struck  out,  modifiers  eliminated, 
the  order  of  statement  changed,  the  whole  thing  meta 
morphosed,  yet  left  the  same." 

"Exactly;  and,  after  all,  the  whole  thrown  away," 
laughed  Stearns.  "  Well,  I  do  not  know  that  I  paid  any 
more  attention  to  that  article  than  to  the  others.  What 
you  have  seen  is  simply  an  illustration  of  the  training  a 
daily  newspaper  gives;  and  shows  why  no  man  can  come 
from  another  profession  and  sit  safely  and  successfully  in 
its  higher  places.  It  develops  in  its  greatest  perfection 


rrr£  PRODUCT  of  EVOLUTION.          413 

the  faculty  of  instant  decision  as  to  the  thing  in  hand.  I 
saw  those  mistakes  of  form — newspaper  form,  I  mean, 
not  necessarily  what  would  be  termed  literary  or  gram 
matical  form — and  knocked  them  out  as  I  went  along. 
By  the  time  I  had  reached  the  end  I  concluded  the  thing 
was  not  worth  the  space  it  would  require,  and  so  '  killed ' 
it  without  a  moment's  hesitation." 

"  But  I  do  not  see  how  you  can  read  so  fast." 

"Nor  do  I.  In  fact  I  am  not  sure  I  do  read,  in  the 
sense  you  use  the  term.  There  are  scores  of  men  in  the 
profession  who  can  do  such  work  faster  than  I.  When  I 
was  in  college  I  was  a  favorite  with  a  professor  who  was 
a  noted  book-worm.  He  used  to  tell  me  that  a  persist 
ent  and  fai  hful  reader  nearly  always  reached  the  point 
where  he  is  able  to  absorb,  as  it  were,  a  page  at  a  glance. 
I  have  often  thought  this  might  be  true,  though  I  did  not 
believe  it  then.  Certain  it  is,  that  where  I  used  to  see, 
or  apprehend  rather,  only  word  by  word  and  line  by  line, 
I  now  seem  to  gather  in  the  thought  by  sentences — several 
lines  at  a  time,  perhaps.  I  cannot  tell  how  it  is  done, 
but  a  glance  or  two  includes  a  page.  I  think  this  is  a 
frequent  experience  with  persons  in  such  positions." 

"  You  learn  to  talk  and  read  at  the  same  time,  too,  I 
see?" 

"  Not  to  any  exent,"  answered  Searle.  "  I  no  doubt 
seem  to  do  so ;  but  in  reality  I  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 
anything  like  the  duplex  capacity  which  has  been  claimed 
for  some  men  both  in  ancient  and  modern  times.  I  often 
continue  to  read  while  people  talk  to  me,  because  I  know 
what  they  are  going  to  say,  or  catch  it  by  scraps  as  they 
go  along.  Sometimes,  I  think  the  ear  catches  words  and 
holds  them  like  the  wax  on  the  receiving  cylinder  of  the 
phonograph,  until  the  mind  gets  leisure  to  consider  them. 


MURVALE  EASTMAtf. 

In  that  way,  I  seem  often  to  know  what  a  reporter  or  the 
foreman  has  been  saying  for  quite  a  time  during  which  I 
have  been  intently  engaged  with  the  'matter'  I  am  exam 
ining.  Curiously  enough,  I  do  not  see  but  that  what  is  done 
under  such  circumstances  is  as  good  as  any  of  my  work." 

"And  is  this,  too,  common  in  the  profession?  " 

"  I  think  almost  universal." 

"  Did  you  ever  think  anything  about  the  heritability  of 
such  qualities — what  will  be  the  effect  of  our  universal 
literary  capacity  and  special  literary  training  on  the  future, 
I  mean?  " 

"  More  than  once,"  answered  Searle  with  enthusiasm. 
"  A  printer's  child  may  almost  be  said  to  be  born  '  at  the 
case.'  Like  all  engrossing  occupations,  the  constant  ex 
ercise  of  the  faculty  of  reading  and  writing  leaves  an  ine 
radicable  impress  on  the  offspring.  Most  of  tjie  children 
of  to  day  are  born  with  an  aptitude  for  alphabetic  forms 
and  verbal  symbols  which  was  unheard  of  fifty  years  ago. 
Why  should  it  not  be  so?  The  laborer  of  to-day  reads 
more  words  in  a  year  than  the  professional  man  of  a  gen 
eration  ago;  and  the  business  or  professional  man  of  to 
day  receives  more  ideas,  from  written  or  printed  pages,  in 
a  year  than  his  grandfather  could  have  received  in  all  his 
life.  It  cannot  be  otherwise.  You  will  find  a  lawyer,  a 
banker,  or  a  merchant  reading  two  or  three  newspapers  a 
day  and  receiving  and  answering  letters,  telegrams,  and 
telephone  messages,  exceeding  in  number  and  variety, 
every  day,  the  inquiries  one  in  like  circumstances  would 
have  been  called  upon  to  answer  in  a  month  or  perhaps  a 
year,  only  one  life-time  ago." 

"  We  shall  have  editors,  reporters,  and  the  like,  born 
ready-made  after  a  little,  then,  I  suppose,"  said  Eastman 
with  a  smile. 


THE  PRODUCT  OF  EVOLUTION.  415 

*'  We  are  not  so  far  from  it  now  as  you  might  think," 
was  the  reply.  "You  know  Goggles,  of  course,  Mr. 
Kishu's  private  secretary?  " 

"Mr.  Lampson,  you  mean?"  said  the  minister  re 
provingly. 

"Well,  yes,"  laughed  Searle,  "if  you  choose  to  call 
him  that — it  is  his  company  name." 

"  Is  it  not  his  real  name?  " 

"  It  was  not  his  father's  name  nor  his  mother's  either, 
for  that  matter.  But  that  is  of  no  consequence.  His 
father  was  one  of  the  most  brilliant  men  that  ever  lived, 
a  slave  of  appetite  but  a  genius.  At  that  time — when  he 
was  young,  I  mean — there  seems  to  have  tfeen  a  notion 
that  brilliancy  and  dissipation  were  inseparable.  Genius 
appears  to  have  been  regarded  as  a  sort  of  mental  distor 
tion  which  of  necessity  implied  moral  obliquity.  This 
was  the  tone  of  the  epoch  of  Byron,  Keats,  and  Shelley, 
whose  lives  are  a  sea  of  blackness  from  which  we  regret 
fully  pick  out  gems  of  thought  which,  do  what  we  may,  it 
is  hard  to  dissociate  from  their  origin.  Coleridge  and  De 
Quincey  illustrate  another  phase  of  the  same  idea.  Car- 
lyle,  the  cowardliest  of  braggarts,  with  his  dog's  heart  and 
envenomed  tongue,  was  still  another  product  of  this  ideal. 
More  than  one  of  our  great  Americans  of  the  epoch  just 
preceding  our  civil  war  illustrate  my  thought.  This  idea 
is  still  the  much-vaunted  theory  which  impels  Gallic  genius 
to  boast  of  excesses,  and  is  to  some  extent  the  excusa 
tory  principle  of  English  and  American  life.  Great  wealth 
and  high  station  are  accepted  as  the  evidence  of  great 
powers  and  the  excuse  for  great  excesses.  I  do  not  know 
that  it  is  any  more  fallacious  now  than  heretofore,  but  we 
are  learning  that,  after  all,  it  is  the  healthy  mind  which 
does  and  has  always  done  the  best  work.  Almost  every- 


416  MURVALE  RASTMAN. 

body  now  admits  that  work  and  the  ability  to  work  are  the 
prime  essentials  of  the  highest  achievement.  The  jour 
nalist  of  to-day  can  scarcely  acquire  even '  an  ephemeral 
reputation  if  affected  with  the  infirmities  which  yesterday 
deemed  almost  essential  to  his  success.  He  may  develop 
them  after  he  has  reached  the  pinnacle  of  renown,  bu* 
while  he  is  climbing  the  ladder  he  must  have  a  cool  head 
There  are  some  survivors  of  the  old  order;  but,  as  a  rule, 
the  journalist  of  to-day  depends  for  his  success  upon  the 
fact  that  he  never  loses  command  of  all  his  faculties. 

"  Lampson's  father  was  one  of  those  remarkable  men 
whom  the  exigencies  of  the  early  years  of  daily  journalism 
seem  to  have  generated.  The  Thunderbolt  feels  the  im 
pulse  of  his  name  and  power  even  yet.  He  was  a  man  of 
passion,  fire,  absorbing  vanity,  and  unrestrained  impulse. 
My  life  overlapped  his  but  a  few  years,  yet  as  a  boy  I 
remember  him  when  he  was  in  his  prime.  I  was  a  '  devil ' 
in  the  office  then.  What  a  grand  picture  of  health  and 
strength  he  was,  and  how  proud  of  himself!  He  had  two 
partners,  one  a  weak,  genial  man  who  worshiped  the  brill 
iant  writer  and  leader,  and  quietly  made  up  his  deficien 
cies  while  he  sang  his  praises ;  the  other,  a  smooth,  plau 
sible  fellow  who  managed  the  business,  and — well,  left 
them  to  look  out  for  themselves. 

"  No  one  knows  just  how  it  happened,  but  one  day  Lamp- 
son's  father  withdrew  from  the  firm  and  established  an 
other  daily.  He  had  the  most  brilliant  prospects  and  the 
best  of  backing.  What  made  him  fail?  One  can  hardly 
tell.  He  was  one  of  those  men  who  supplied  by  their  in 
dividual  resources  the  things  which  an  infinitely  varied 
mechanism  provides  for  the  journalist  of  to-day.  It  was 
before  the  era  of  stenography  as  a  practical  art,  but  he 
would  listen  to  a  speech  two  hours  long,  come  back  to  the 


THE  PRODUCT  OF  EVOLUTION.  41  y 

office,  and  dash  it  off,  not  word  for  word,  it  is  true,  but 
far  better  than  a  mere  verbal  report,  preserving  all  its  ex 
cellencies,  eliminating  its  defects,  and  yet  veraciously  re 
taining  the  speaker's  style,  reproducing  indeed,  as  no  ver 
bal  report  can,  not  only  the  speech,  but  its  effect  upon  the 
hearer  as  well. 

"  One  of  the  fruits  of  this  man's  moral  obliquities  was 
that  strange  creature,  '  Goggles.'  Of  course,  he  is  illegit 
imate.  His  mother  was — a  magnificent  beast.  She  died 
when  the  child  was  a  year  or  two  old,  and  the  father  pro 
cured  a  family  named  Lampson  to  adopt  it.  They  were 
not  much  better  than  the  mother.  Joe  was  a  notably 
hard  case  among  the  little  '  vags '  of  a  low  suburb.  When 
he  was  about  twelve  or  fourteen,  something  happened  to 
him,  and  the  next  that  was  known  of  him,  Wilton  Kishu 
was  his  benefactor  and — master!  The  '  old  man  '  set  me 
to  finding  out  what  it  is  that  holds  them  together,  when  I 
first  took  up  reporting,  but  I  could  never  solve  the  riddle. 

"  Now  what  I  wanted  to  say,  though  I  have  taken  a 
long  while  to  get  to  it,  is  that  this  man  is  a  born  reporter. 
He  will  carry  three  thousand  words  in  his  head  and  hardly 
miss  one  in  running  them  off.  He  is  an  expert  stenog 
rapher,  it  is  true,  but  he  hardly  needs  any  aid  from  sym 
bols.  He  will  sit  and  dream  or  scribble  verse,  during  the 
delivery  of  a  speech,  and  then  run  it  off  verbatim  on  his 
type-writer  afterward,  just  as  well  as  if  he  had  followed  it 
with  his  pencil.  He  is  much  more  than  a  reporter,  too. 
He  is  a  writer  of  peculiar  power  and  a  poet — whose  verses 
are  never  printed.  He  signs  them  '  Worsoff  the  Russian,' 
because  of  their  weird,  pessimistic  character  and  also 
because,  as  he  grimly  says,  no  Russian  ever  thought  him 
self  worse  off  than  he  is.  Not  a  bad  hit  at  Russian  mor 
bidness,  eh?" 
27 


4iS  MVRVALE  EASTMAN, 

The  two  men  laughed  pleasantly. 

"  He  inherits  other  qualities  from  his  father,  too,  does 
he  not?"  asked  Eastman. 

"You  mean  the  opium  habit?  I  don't  think  so;  pain 
probably,  perhaps  fear,  is  the  cause  of  that." 

"Fear?" 

"  Yes ;  he  is  mortally  afraid  of  Kishu." 

"Why  should  that  be?" 

"Give  it  up!" 

"The— other  partner's  son — young  Marsh?"  said  East 
man  suggestively. 

"Just  like  his  father — too  honorable  to  succeed,  but  as 
true  as  steel,  and  not  without  ability.  He  is  a  great  favor 
ite  in  the  office,  and  we  shall  be  sorry  to  lose  him." 

"Lose  him— how?" 

"  He  has  just  resigned." 

"Going  elsewhere?" 

"  San  Erancisco." 

"  I  am  surprised." 

"  So  was  I,"  said  Searle  significantly. 

"Why  is  he  leaving?" 

"Shall  I  tell  you?"  asked  Searle  with  a  sharp  glance 
at  his  companion. 

"  If  you  please,"  answered  the  minister,  looking  him  in 
the  eye. 

"  He  is  in  love  with — with  Lilian  Kishu." 

"Well?" 

Eastman's  tone  was  firm,  but  there  was  a  quiver  about 
his  lip. 

"  He  thinks  she  wishes — feels — that  is — he  does  not 
think  he  ought  to  remain,  you  see." 

The  cold-eyed  editor  was  clasping  and  unclasping  his 
hands  in  helpless  bewilderment  as  he  spoke. 


IN   THE  LIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  FAME.  419 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  other,  turning  his  head  away 
and  looking  steadily  out  of  the  window.  Presently  he 
added  in  a  low,  even  voice : 

"  Tell  him  he  would  better— stay." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  The  minister  con 
tinued  looking  out  of  the  window;  the  editor  brushed  his 
hand  across  his  eyes,  turned  his  chair  toward  the  desk, 
and  put  a  slip  of  paper  in  one  of  the  pigeon-holes.  East 
man  rose  and  put  on  his  hat,  drawing  it  down  so  as  to 
hide  his  eyes.  Stearns  rose  also.  The  silence  seemed 
unnatural  and  oppressive  in  the  midst  of  so  much  life. 
They  heard  the  throb  of  the  engine  in  the  basement,  the 
tinkle  of  the  car-bell  on  the  street  below. 

"You  are — sure?"  asked  Searle  wistfully. 

"  Sure,  quite  sure,"  answered  the  other  firmly,  looking 
around  with  a  white,  hard  face. 

Searle  reached  out  his  hand  and  took  the  other's  in  a 
strong,  firm  clasp.  His  lips  worked  tremulously,  but 
uttered  no  sound.  Murvale  Eastman  went  out  into  the 
sunshine;  the  editor  looked  after  him  a  moment  and  then 
turned  again  to  his  desk. 


CHAPTER   XXXVIII. 

IN    THE    LIGHT    OF    PUBLIC    FAME. 

How  the  world  hurries  in  this  wonderful  age,  when  dec 
ades  stand  for  centuries  and  ages  are  crowded  into  a 
life-time!  While  we  pause  to  count  the  heart's  beating, 
events  haooen  that  change  the  world's  history.  And  the 


420  MURl'AU''.    KASTMAtf. 

daily  press — it  chronicles  them  all — small  and  great 
worthy  and  unworthy,  and  is  a  true  picture  of  the  time. 

So  we  are  wont  to  say.  The  statement  is  but  half  true, 
at  best.  The  press  chronicles  what  it  deems  the  most 
important  happenings  with  a  certain  accuracy,  but  who 
shall  verify  its  judgment  as  to  relative  importance?  And 
as  to  what  lies  beneath — why  events  come  to  pass,  what 
is  the  motor  which  moves  humanity,  and  why  men  and 
women  think  and  do  this  or  that — of  these  things,  alas!  it 
takes  little  note;  no  more  than  history,  which  is  always 
the  leanest  part  of  truth,  concerned  chiefly  with  happenings 
and  ignoring  causes,  save  those  that  lie  upon  the  surface. 
Yet,  "why"  is  infinitely  greater  than  "what''  as  an  ele 
ment  of  life.  "  What "  is  done  is  but  the  wrinkled  and 
empty  skin  of  truth;  "why,"  an  infinite  series  of  causa 
tions,  the  evolution  of  motives  from  which  facts  result. 
A  knowledge  of  this  endless  chain  of  sequences  is  neces 
sary  to  fill  out  the  empty  husk  and  enable  the  world  to 
comprehend  the  truth  of  yesterday's  experience.  This 
is  why  fiction  outranks  history  as  a  truth-teller,  and 
teaches  lessons  of  wisdom  which  philosophy  strives  in 
vain  without  its  aid  to  impress  upon  the  human  mind.  It 
is  the  privilege  of  the  novelist,  not  merely  to  relate  the 
sequence  of  events,  but  to  uncover  the  heart  and  reveal 
the  motives  of  actors  in  the  infinite  drama  of  life. 

Little  did  the  world  guess  the  true  significance  of  a  few 
paragraphs  which  appeared  in  the  editorial  columns  of  the 
Breeze  at  various  times  during  a  few  weeks,  as  a  part  of 
the  drama  of  thought  and  progress  enacted  in  and  about 
the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies.  Few  hearts  had  any 
clew  to  their  real  import,  and  each  of  those  who  did  was 
burdened  with  uncertainty  in  regard  to  what  others  might 
have  revealed. 


IN    THE   LIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  FAME.  421 

EDITORIAL  EXTRACT   NO.    I. 

The  offer  of  ten  thousand  dollars  reward  for  an  opal  of  peculiar 
character  which  has  appeared  in  our  advertising  columns  for  several 
days  is  withdrawn,  and  the  parties  making  it  authorize  the  statement 
that  they  not  only  have  the  stone  in  their  possession,  but  have  abund 
ant  proof  as  to  whose  possession  it  has  been  in  during  every  moment 
for  the  last  two  hundred  years  except  one  single  day.  During  that 
time  there  was  a  change  of  possession,  the  real  character  of  which 
has  not  yet  been  determined,  but  cannot  long  be  delayed.  No  better 
evidence  of  the  value  of  advertising  could  be  imagined  than  this  ;  it 
not  only  discovered  the  gem,  but  revealed  every  link  in  its  history. 
What  the  life-drama  connected  with  it  is  we  know  not,  but  we  fancy 
the  public  has  not  yet  heard  the  last  of  this  fateful  gem. 

EDITORIAL   EXTRACT    NO.    2. 

The  action  brought  some  time  ago  against  the  city  for  the  recovery 
of  Garden  Square  and  other  property  embraced  in  the  will  of  the  cel 
ebrated  patriot  and  scientist,  Daniel  Ximenes  Valentine,  was  yester 
day  determined  in  favor  of  the  plaintiff,  Mr.  Jonas  Underwood,  by 
adjustment.  There  has  been  from  the  first  no  question  as  to  Mr. 
Underwood's  right  of  recovery.  The  proof  of  descent  from  the 
donor  was,  unfortunately  for  the  city,  quite  as  clear  as  the  evidence 
that  the  conditions  of  the  grant  had  been  violated.  The  press  of  the 
city  has  repeatedly  called  attention  to  this  violation  by  which  a  highly 
remunerative  property  as  well  as  one  of  the  finest  parks  in  the  city 
has  been  forfeited.  A  considerable  sum  was  saved  to  the  city  by  the 
terms  of  the  compromise,  and  it  is  hoped  that  inducements  will  be 
offered  sufficient  to  secure  the  continuance  of  this  unique  park.  Its 
value  for  building  purposes  is,  however,  immense,  as  it  is  perhaps, 
all  things  considered,  the  best  location  in  the  city.  The  city  ought 
to  secure  it  even  if  part  of  it  is  used  for  some  kind  of  a  public  build 
ing. 

It  is  a  singular  fact  that  the  opal  spoken  of  in  these  columns  a 
few  days  ago  was  an  heirloom  in  the  family  of  Daniel  Ximenes  Val 
entine,  who  were  Jewish  Christians  of  Valladolid  in  the  fifteenth 
century  and  believed  to  have  been  akin  to  Abrabamel,  who  was 
descended  from  the  House  of  David,  and  so  bravely  withstood  the 
Grand  Inquisitor  Torquemada  two  days  before  Columbus  sailed  to 


422 

discover  a  new  world  which  has  been  indeed  a  city  of  refuge  to  the 
persecuted  children  of  Israel.  The  stone  is  believed  to  have  belonged 
to  a  Jewish  Christian  family  in  the  first  century  ;  such,  indeed  is  the 
tradition.  The  work  upon  it  is  undoubtedly  Roman,  and  it  was  pre 
sumably  intended  as  a  religious  symbol.  Afterward  the  letters  appear 
to  have  been  taken  as  family  initials,  perhaps  to  avoid  persecution. 
This  seems  to  be  the  more  probable,  as  for  many  generations  the 
eldest  son  of  the  main  line  bore  the  name  Daniel  Ximenes.  A  full 
description  of  the  jewel  and  its  case  was  found  among  the  papers  of 
the  great  scientist,  which  were  examined  on  an  order  of  the  court 
obtained  for  that  purpose.  It  seems  there  had  been  some  misunder 
standing  between  him  and  his  daughter,  who  had  married  against  his 
wishes,  so  he  left  her  by  his  will  only  the  ichthus.  Either  she  was 
unaware  of  its  contents,  or  she  failed  to  convey  the  knowledge  to  her 
descendants,  since  it  was  only  just  before  its  loss,  a  score  of  years 
ago,  that  the  heir  discovered  the  real  value  of  the  trinket.  Even 
then  he  did  not  know  that  it  would  prove  able  to  open  Fortunatus' 
box  for  him. 

A  curious  thing  about  it  is  that  Mr.  Metziger,  the  lawyer  in  the 
case,  found  in  the  course  of  its  preparation  that  his  own  family, 
which  came  to  this  city  from  Frankfort  about  the  time  that  the  father 
of  Daniel  Ximenes  Valentine  arrived  from  the  Netherlands,  were  a 
branch  of  the  same  stock.  The  records  of  this  family,  which  are 
very  complete,  show  that  puzzling  change  of  names  which  was  so 
frequent  and  apparently  unaccountable  in  the  Middle  Ages.  The 
reasons  for  these  changes  were  sometimes  religious,  sometimes  finan 
cial,  and  at  others  seem  to  have  been  purely  fanciful.  Such  changes 
render  the  tracing  of  relationships  among  the  common  classes  a  task 
of  such  difficulty  that  even  the  utmost  care  on  the  part  of  the  Hebrew 
genealogist  has  not  been  able  to  overcome  it.  But  for  this  gem,  the 
kinship  between  the  two  families  would  never  have  been  suspected. 
But  gems  are  immortal,  and  the  history  of  this  one  reaches  back  to 
a  time  beyond  that  to  which  any  family  of  Western  Europe  can  au 
thentically  trace  its  origin. 

EDITORIAL  EXTRACT  NO.    3. 

The  action  begun  by  Mr.  Wilton  Kishu  against  the  Trustees  of 
the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies  for  infraction  of  conditions  on  which 
the  site  was  donated,  has  given  rise  to  an  amount  of  litigation  he 


IN   THE   LIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  FAME.  433 

probably  little  expected  when  the  writ  was  issued.  Twenty-seven 
suits  have  been  brought  by  Mr.  Underwood,  one  of  the  parties 
sought  to  be  ejected,  against  the  present  occupants  of  what  was  once 
known  as  the  Flat-iron  Tract — now  one  of  the  most  fashionable 
parts  of  the  city.  As  the  property  was  all  bought  from  Mr.  Kishu, 
who  warranted  the  title,  and  has  been  built  up  with  the  most  costly 
residences,  that  gentleman  will  either  have  to  defend  the  title  or  make 
good  the  loss  which  those  deriving  title  through  him  may  suffer. 
That  he  can  do  the  former  seems  altogether  improbable,  as  the  plain 
tiff's  title  is  the  same  as  that  recently  admitted  to  be  incontestable  in 
several  suits  against  the  city.  Several  actions  for  damages  against 
Mr.  Kishu  have  already  been  instituted  by  parties  who  fear  that  he 
may  be  unable  to  meet  all  the  claims  for  which  he  may  be  held  liable. 
Mr.  Kishu  is  a  very  wealthy  man,  but  it  is  generally  admitted  that  if 
these  cases  should  be  decided  against  him,  it  is  hardly  probable  that 
he  could  more  than  meet  his  obligations.  The  Flat-iron  Tract  was 
the  basis  of  his  fortune.  He  bought  it  of  the  city  for  a  nominal  sum, 
taking  a  quit-claim  deed,  and  sold  at  an  immense  advance,  giving  a 
warranty,  supposing  the  family  of  Valentine  to  be  extinct.  It  is  said 
that  the  transaction  yielded  him  fully  half  a  million,  but  the  property 
is  now  worth  as  many  millions  as  he  paid  thousands  for  it.  Mr. 
Underwood,  as  is  well  known,  was  recently  a  driver  on  the  Belt  and 
Cross-Cut  Line,  and  in  very  straitened  circumstances.  The  result  of 
the  pending  actions  may  very  possibly  be  to  reverse  the  financial 
status  of  the  two  men.  Nothing  could  more  clearly  show  the  un- 
healthfulness  of  modern  conditions  and  ideals.  Instead  of  putting  a 
fair  competence  within  the  reach  of  all,  and  inducing  every  one  to 
strive  for  its  attainment,  it  spurs  on  the  ambitious  man  to  take  great 
risks,  to  play  for  great  stakes,  as  we  term  it,  making  what  is  called 
business  a  game  of  chance  rather  than  the  reward  of  close  applica 
tion  or  individual  m'erit. 

While  very  many  would  regret  such  disaster  to  an  eminent  and 
public-spirited  citizen  like  Mr.  Kishu,  yet  it  cannot  be  denied  that 
many  more,  perhaps  a  majority,  will  regard  it  as  a  bit  of  gambler's 
luck,  and  looking  back  to  the  transaction  on  which  his  fortune  was 
largely  built,  will  simply  say  that  he  played  for  big  money  and  lost. 
Of  course,  Mr.  Kishu  would  not  take  such  risks  now — he  understands 
the  danger  too  well — but  at  that  time  he  was  anxious  to  be  rich,  and 
the  speculation  in  which  he  embarked  offered  an  opportunity  to  amass 


424  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

a  fortune  by  one  daring  stroke.  We  trust  that  some  compromise 
may  be  made  which  will  avoid  such  a  calamity,  by  dividing  the  loss 
between  the  parties  in  interest  ;  but  we  must  confess  that  the  spirit 
recently  displayed  by  Mr.  Kishu  toward  the  plaintiff  in  these  suits 
does  not  give  much  room  for  hope  of  an  amicable  adjustment. 

To  this  latter  paragraph  the  Thunderbolt  stoutly  re 
joined: 

EDITORIAL  EXTRACT   NO.  4. 

Our  esteemed  contemporary  the  Breeze  is  altogether  "  too  previous  " 
in  its  pretense  of  sympathy  for  Mr.  Kishu  in  a  certain  contingency 
which  it  chooses  to  intimate  may  result  from  the  suits  recently 
brought  against  the  owners  of  certain  property  in  the  city.  Such  a 
result  is,  in  the  first  place,  not  at  all  probable.  The  plaintiff  in  these 
actions  is  not  contending  with  the  city  now,  but  with  a  man  who 
will  defend  his  rights  to  the  last  moment  and  by  all  lawful  means. 
We  would  remind  our  esteemed  contemporary  that  Wilton  Kishu  is 
not  only  a  self-made  man,  bift  one  who  is  not  easily  frightened  by 
the  threats  of  an  unknown  pretender  who  has  had  the  luck  to  spring 
at  the  eleventh  hour  from  poverty  to  affluence.  We  must  ask  our 
windy  neighbor  to  reserve  its  sympathy  for  those  who  need  it,  and 
Mr.  Kishu  is  not  likely  soon  to  be  one  of  the  recipients  of  its  hypo 
critical  condolence.  As  for  the  suits  themselves,  the  editor  of  the 
Breeze  will  never  live  to  see  judgments  entered  in  one  of  them  against 
Mr.  Kishu.  Of  that  much  we  are  able  to  assure  him  with  the  ut 
most  confidence. 

These  were  brave  words,  and  public  opinion  was  di 
vided  between  Valentine's  heirs,  who  had  so  long  been 
deprived  of  their  rights  under  the  ancestor's  will,  and 
Wilton  Kishu,  who  had  nerve  enough  to  take  the  chances 
and  make  a  fortune  out  of  the  unsightly  tract  which  had 
so  long  obstructed  the  city's  development. 

Wilton  Kishu  took  a  strange  interest  in  these  excerpts, 
which  he  cut  out  and  read  over  and  over  again,  as  if  he 
hoped  to  find  in  them,  and  the  advertisements  he  had 
preserved,  some  clew  that  would  relieve  him  from  the 


IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  FAME.  425 

dangers  that  impended.  They  had  already  revealed  to 
him  a  mysterious  connection  between  his  fortune  and  his 
crime.  His  greed  had  been  the  instrument  of  his  own 
punishment.  If  he  had  not  robbed  the  child  whom  chance 
threw  in  his  way,  there  was  little  probability  that  the  Val 
entine  heirs  would  ever  have  been  discovered.  If  he  had 
restored  her  instead  of  yielding  to  his  wife's  silly  threats, 
he  would  have  earned  their  gratitude  instead  of  their  hate. 
He  saw  it  all  now.  This  man  who  was  intrenched  within 
the  very  walls  of  the  Golden  Lilies  was  his  mortal  ene 
my,  and  was  bound  to  strip  him,  not  only  of  his  wealth, 
but  of  his  good  name.  All  the  foundations  of  his  pride 
were  being  surely  sapped. 

Yet  he  would  not  yield.  To  do  so  would  be  only  to 
invite  the  fate  he  dreaded.  They  could  not  fasten  any 
wrong  upon  him.  At  best  it  would  be  mere  suspicion. 
Was  he  sure  of  this?  The  Breeze  stated  that  they  were 
able  to  account  for  the  stone  for  two  hundred  years  "  ex 
cept  one  day.'1'1  One  day!  It  had  been  in  his  possession 
one  day ;  the  next  he  had  pledged  it  for  a  loan.  A  month 
after  it  had  returned  to  his  possession.  Did  his  enemy 
know  all  this? 

His  heart  almost  ceased  its  pulsations  at  the  thought. 
Was  the  statement  true,  or  was  it  mere  bluff?  How  could 
they  have  learned  it  ?  The  man  with  whom  he  had  pledged 
it  lived  in  another  city.  Kishu  had  given  him  his  true 
name.  It  had  not  been  his  purpose  to  do  so,  but  he  could 
secure  the  advance  he  desired  in  no  other  way.  The  note 
for  which  it  had  been  pledged  as  a  collateral  was  signed 
with  his  name  also.  He  had  told  the  party  truly  why  it 
was  not  negotiated  at  home — that  he  did  not  wish  to  strain 
his  credit  nor  have  it  known  that  he  was  engaged  in  spec 
ulative  enterprises.  The  man  had  hesitated,  as  if  he  feared 


426  MCKl'ALE  EASTMAN. 

the  gem  might  not  be  readily  convertible  for  the  amount 
required,  and  had  finally  yielded  only  on  condition  that 
he  should  receive  a  farther  sum  from  the  projected  enter 
prise  should  it  prove  successful. 

And  this  obligation  Kishu  had  faithfully  performed. 
The  Jew  had  got  heavy  interest — almost  cent,  per  cent, 
for  thirty  days'  use  of  fifteen  hundred  dollars;  for  that  was 
all  Kishu  had  received  for  his  promise  to  pay  two  thou 
sand.  Had  the  lender  revealed  the  facts  of  this  transac 
tion?  It  did  not  seem  probable.  It  was  a  long  time  ago. 
It  was  not  likely  that  he  would  remember  every  such  trans 
action  or  every  gem  that  passed  through  his  hands.  He 
had  not  shown  him  the  case — the  ichthus^  which  he  had 
been  tempted  so  often  to  destroy,  and  wondered  now  why 
he  had  not.  He  had  a  fear  that  this  cheap  toy  would 
prove  his  undoing  yet.  Somehow  he  had  not  dared  to 
destroy  it.  He  thought  of  it  now  with  superstitious  dread. 
It  was  an  emblem  of  the  true  faith  in  the  days  when  mir 
acles  were  wrought.  It  had  been  in  the  catacombs,  per 
haps.  It  w.'s  possible  that  the  hands  of  martyrs  had 
touched  it.  Perhaps  the  eyes  of  those  who  had  seen  the 
Holiest  had  rested  on  it.  He  shivered  with  dread  as  he 
thought  of  the  mystic  possibilities  which  might  attach  to 
such  a  consecrated  emblem. 

But  what  was  it  that  had  been  said  about  a  cast  of  the 
jewel  being  in  existence?  Had  the  Jew  taken  a  cast? 
It  seemed  more  than  likely,  though  he  had  never  thought 
of  it  before.  The  stone  was  a  valuable  one,  and  he  had 
heard  of  such  a  custom  with  the  dealers  in  such  wares. 
With  the  information  this  man  could  give,  they  would 
indeed  be  able  to  trace  it  to  his  hands  and  presumptively, 
at  least,  account  for  its  possession  except  for  the  one  day 
that  elapsed  between  the  time  it  left  the  little  girl's  hand 


AV    THE   LIGHT  OF  PUBLIC  FAME.  427 

and  the  hour  he  proffered  it  as  security  for  a  loan.  Some 
thing  was  said,  too,  about  a  kinsman  of  Metziger  having 
had  the  stone.  The  man  from  whom  he  made  the  loan 
was  a  Jew.  So  was  Metziger,  it  seemed,  by  descent, 
though  his  family  had  so  long  ago  abandoned  the  syna 
gogue  that  nobody  thought  of  them  as  such.  He  himself 
had  always  supposed  that  they  were  descended  from  the 
old  Dutch  families  or  the  German  sectaries  who  had 
sought  refuge  in  the  colony  in  its  early  day.  He  remem 
bered  that  the  man's  name  was  Messinger — Joseph  Mes- 
singer.  Was  this  the  relative  referred  to?  The  name 
was  something  like  Metziger.  He  remembered  that  it 
was  spelled  with  an  "  i,"  and  the  man  gave  the  "  g  "  its 
hard  sound ;  this  increased  the  resemblance.  He  thought, 
on  the  whole,  this  must  be  the  fact. 

, So  they  had  traced  it  down  to  "one  day" — but  they 
knew  nothing  of  that  day;  they  could  know  nothing  of 
that.  Stop!  Where  was  Lampson?  He  had  not  gone 
to  Bermuda;  that  much  he  had  learned.  He  had  been 
seen  to  enter  Metziger's  office.  Since  then  he  had  dis 
appeared.  But  Metziger  knew  where  he  was.  Of  that 
tnere  was  no  doubt.  What  if  Lampson  had  tried  to  ease 
his  conscience  by  confession?  This  would  bring  the  mat 
ter  nearer  home. 

But  how  much  did  Lampson  know?  He  might  suspect 
a  great  deal,  but  how  much  did  he  know  ?  Simply  that 
WTilton  Kishu  had  found  the  child  which  he  afterward 
stole,  took  it  from  the  street  into  his  carriage,  and  had 
tried  to  make  him  surrender  it.  That  was  all.  He  could 
not  testify  that  the  child  had  not  fallen  into  the  river  nor 
tell  how  the  gem  had  come  into  the  possession  of  the 
benefactor  he  had  betrayed.  Ah!  that  "one  day"  that 
lay  between  him  and  the  jewel  which  had  so  nearly  worked 


42S  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

his  ruin  was  yet  an  insuperable  obstacle  in  the  path  of 
his  enemies.  They  might  come  very  near  to  him  with 
plausible  suspicion,  but  they  could  never  reach  him  with 
proof.  And  against  suspicion  he  had  the  buckler  of  good 
repute.  Who  would  dare  impugn  the  character  of  Wilton 
Kishu  on  mere  suspicion? 

So  he  faced  the  enemy  bravely,  even  confidently.  As 
to  the  suit — there  is  always  a  chance  that  some  link  in 
the  chain  of  evidence,  some  essential  formality  of  a  valid 
claim,  may  be  lacking,  or  that  a  claimant  may  sometimes 
grow  weary  of  hope  deferred  and  compound  his  demand. 
The  prospect  was  not  very  good  for  success,  but  he  could 
lose  nothing  by  contesting.  He  determined,  therefore, 
that  he  would  fight — fight  until  the  last  moment.  And 
then?  Well,  it  would  be  time  enough  to  consider  what  he 
would  do  afterward,  when  he  had  been  driven  from  the 
shelter  of  the  last  stronghold  the  law  has  created  for  the 
stubborn  defender  of  personal  right. 


CHAPTER   XXXIX. 

UNCOVERING   A   CRATER. 

TRUE  to  his  instincts,  Murvale  Eastman  had  written  to 
his  former  fiancte  that  he  had  undertaken  to  trace  the 
history  of  the  setting  in  the  ring  she  had  discarded,  explain 
ing  the  reason  of  this  inquiry,  and  cordially  expressing 
his  entire  confidence  that  Mr.  Kishu  was  unaware  of  the 
relation  the  stone  bore  to  the  tragedy  in  the  life  of  Jonas 
Underwood  and  his  wife.  He  would  like  to  know  any 
thing  she  or  her  father  might  see  fit  to  tell  him  in  regard 
to  its  possession.  It  was  no  doubt  a  long  and  probably 


UNCOVERING  A    CRATER. 


429 


untraceable  road  from  the  finger  of  Lilian  Kishu  back  to 
the  neck  of  the  lost  child,  but  the  unexpected  discovery 
of  the  strangely-marked  gem  had  given  the  father  hope 
—a  hope  which  no  pains  upon  his  part  would  be  spared 
to  justify.  The  highest  legal  and  detective  ability  would 
at  once  be  put  at  work  upon  the  case.  She  must  not  be 
surprised  at  anything  that  might  be  done,  but  rest  assured 
that  no  harm  was  intended  her  or  those  dear  to  her. 

Up  to  this  moment  no  one  had  more  than  the  faintest 
suspicion  that  Wilton  Kishu's  relation  to  the  lost  gem  was 
in  any  degree  blameworthy.  His  daughter,  with  that  pe 
culiar  instinct  which  seemed  to  be  inherent  with  the  child 
of  the  successful  speculator,  at  once  ran  back  in  her  mind 
to  the  time  when  it  was  lost.  She  knew  that  her  father 
was  then  far  from  rich,  and  she  had  heard  vague  hints 
from  her  mother  of  sorrowful  days  preceding  her  own 
birth.  She  guessed  with  foreboding  terror  that  her  father 
— the  father  whom  she  loved  so  devotedly — might  have 
come  into  possession  of  the  fatal  gem  in  some  discredita 
ble  manner — might  perhaps  have  bought  it  of  the  thief, 
having  good  reason  to  believe  it  had  been  stolen.  She 
did  not  feel  any  great  horror  on  account  of  the  act  itself; 
it  seemed  to  her  only  a  venial,  almost  excusable  wrong, 
but  she  knew  that  it  was  a  crime  and  that  its  heinousness 
would  be  enhanced  in  popular  thought  by  the  sufferings 
of  those  from  whom  it  had  been  stolen.  She  greatly 
dreaded,  therefore,  the  effect  of  its  discovery  on  her 
father's  good  name. 

It  was  after  reading  this  letter  that  she  had  made  up 
her  mind  to  marry  Murvale  Eastman.  His  conduct  since 
she  had  discarded  him  had  both  surprised  and  annoyed 
her.  He  had  uttered  no  reproaches,  had  not  sought  to 
be  reinstated,  and  in  the  letter  before  her  had  made  no 


430  M  CRT  ALE  EASTMAX. 

allusion  to  their  former  relation.  Strangely  enough,  she 
felt  as  if  it  was  she  who  had  been  discarded  rather  than 
her  lover.  Everything  that  had  occurred  had  increased 
her  admiration  of  the  man,  and  she  had  inherited  enough 
of  her  fathers  qualities  to  appreciate  the  fact  that  it  would 
be  a  notable  achievement  to  reconcile  her  father  and  her 
lover,  now  become  his  most  dangerous  enemy,  and  re 
store  the  former  to  his  old  place  in  the  Church  of  the 
Golden  Lilies,  make  amends  to  the  father  and  mother  of 
the  child  they  had  so  mysteriously  lost,  and  at  the  same 
time  screen  her  father  from  any  blame — if  blame  there 
were — in  connection  with  the  matter,  at  the  first.  This 
brilliant  coup  she  determined  to  effect  by  marrying  the 
young  divine  already  grown  famous  for  what  he  had  done 
and  dared  to  attempt. 

But  what  of  poor  Frank  Marsh,  of  his  love  for  her  and 
her  fondness  for  him?  Of  course  it  would  be  hard  for 
him,  but  she  would  be  his  good  fairy,  too,  and  put  him  in 
the  way  of  acquiring  a  fortune.  He  would  soon  forget 
his  fancy  for  her.  It  gave  her  heart  a  sore  twinge  to 
think  so,  but  she  did  not  doubt  the  fact. 

Despite  her  innocence,  Lilian  Kishti  was  by  no  means 
unsophisticated.  Her  views  of  the  world  had  not  been 
restricted.  She  reflected  quite  unconsciously  both  her 
father's  pessimism  and  her  mother's  distrust.  She  be 
lieved  in  love  of  the  old  fashioned,  romantic  sort,  as  a 
thing  very  pleasant  to  play  at  in  the  courting  days,  but  she 
fully  accepted  the  more  exalted  and  reasonable  view  of 
later  times  which  is  so  bluntly  expressed  by  the  novelist, 
Tolstoi,  who  has  recently  been  elevated  to  the  level  of 
teacher,  moralist,  and  prophet,  when  he  declares  that 
"  love  of  the  passionate,  romantic  sort  is  not  to  be  ex 
pected  or  even  desired  in  marriage.''  She  accepted  the 


VtfCOVERING  A    CRATER.  431 

new  philosophy  of  "realistic"  marriage — that  husband 
and  wife  should  have  a  mutual  respect  for  each  other,  but 
by  all  means  avoid  anything  approaching  a  romantic  pas 
sion,  as  certain  to  bring  disappointment  and  unhappiness. 
With  the  great  high-priest  of  the  new  Muscovite  dispen 
sation,  she  was  ready  to  say:  "  Love  is  necessarily  change 
ful  ;  respect  is  permanent.  Love  is  the  product  of  a  sort 
of  frenzy;  respect  the  result  of  conviction." 

She  -was  a  product  of  her  time,  a  creature  of  inheritance 
and  environment.  She  was  not  avaricious,  because  she 
had  enough ;  but  without  thinking  she  believed  in  modern 
notions  and  the  modern  theories  of  life  and  society.  She 
did  not  deny  to  herself  that  she  loved  Frank  Marsh  and 
that  she  did  not  love  Murvale  Eastman.  She  had  tried  to 
love  him  but  could  not.  Even  while  she  was  in  his  one 
passionate  embrace  the  face  of  her  handsome  playmate 
had  come  between,  and  she  had  broken  from  his  clasp  with 
a  thrill  of  repugnance,  almost  hatred,  for  him  and  for  her 
self.  Yet  she  respected  and  esteemed  Murvale  Eastman; 
was  proud  of  his  manhood,  and  would  be  glad  to  wear  his 
name  and  share  the  triumphs  she  was  sure  he  would 
achieve.  She  drew  a  sheet  of  paper  near  her  and  wrote 
the  name  to  see  how  it  would  look :  "  Mrs.  Murvale  East 
man."  She  did  not  blush,  as  she  read  the  syllables  and 
tried  them  to  see  how  they  would  become  the  mouth  and 
fill  the  ear.  Why  should  she?  There  was  nothing  dis 
creditable  in  the  act,  and  she  was  "not  a  milkmaid."  The 
day  of  romantic,  credulous,  love-lorn  maidens  has  gone 
by.  She  had  no  desire  that  Frank  Marsh  should  cease 
to  love  her — rather  wished,  indeed,  that  he  should  not. 
He  was  a  charming  gallant.  It  would  be  nice  to  flirt 
with  him  after  she  was  married.  There  was  no  harm  in 
that,  and  Murvale  was  too  sensible  to  be  jealous.  So  she 


432  Vl'RVALE  EASTMAN. 

decided  she  would  marry  Murvale  Eastman,  that  she 
would  keep  track  of  the  efforts  being  made  to  trace  the 
jewel,  that  she  would  cultivate  the  Underwoods,  screen 
her  father,  and  watch  over  the  interests  of  Frank  Marsh. 

The  time  was  when  a  girl  of  the  intelligence  and  posi 
tion  of  Lilian  Kishu  would  have  been  both  ashamed  and 
afraid  to  juggle  with  her  heart  in  this  manner;  but  the 
world  has  moved  since  then,  and  the  ideal  woman  has 
changed  with  the  times.  Once,  love  was  the  most  seri 
ous  thing  in  life,  and  marriage  its  blissful  consummation. 
Both  were  holy  things,  not  to  be  thought  of  but  in  con 
nection  with  each  other;  yet  now  we  have  learned  that 
love  is  but  a  pastime,  a  fever  of  the  blood;  and  marriage 
a  matter  of  business,  "an  important  social  convention 
founded  on  reason  rather  than  individual  atraction."  And 
Lilian  Kishu  filled  this  ideal.  She  would  die,  if  need 
were,  to  save  her  father  from  dishonor;  but  was  not  called 
upon  to  sacrifice  for  love's  sake  either  her  pride  or  her 
position.  The  role  suited  her.  She  had  no  fancy  for  an 
unimportant  part  in  the  drama  of  life,  and  she  thought 
she  would  like  nothing  so  well  as  to  make  such  strong  men 
as  Wilton  Kishu  and  Murvale  Eastman  pull  together,  de 
spite  their  mutual  unlikeness.  It  was  a  silly  notion,  but 
even  "  the  girl  of  the  period  "  will  dream  dreams,  and  this 
was  Lilian  Kishu's  dream. 

Her  first  step  in  the  fulfillment  of  her  purpose  was  to 
try  and  find  out  from  her  mother  anything  she  might  know 
in  regard  to  the  matter.  That  worthy  woman  was  as  wax 
in  her  daughter's  hands  whenever  the  child  of  Wilton 
Kishu  sought  to  exercise  her  inherited  power  of  manage 
ment.  Before  a  day  had  passed,  Lilian  heard  a  tearful 
account  of  her  father's  one  unforgiven  wrong,  from  the 
mother's  point  of  view.  Without  stopping  to  controvert 


UNCOVERING  A    CRATER.  433 

the  jealousy  which  years  had  ripened  into  a  wrong  all  the 
more  bitter  because  she  had  daily  declared  it  to  be  for 
given,  Lilian  inquired  about  the  child  who  had  been  made 
the  victim  of  the  exasperated  wife's  resentment. 

"  I  don't  know  what  ever  became  of  it,''  answered  the 
mother,  her  eyes  wet  with  tears  of  humiliation  and  bitter 
ness.  "  I  didn't  want  to  know.  I  took  it  to  a  friend,  one 
that  had  been  a  friend  of  my  girlhood,  and  told  her — I 
can't  tell  you  what  I  told  her,  Lilian.  It  wasn't  the  truth. 
I  couldn't  tell  such  a  truth  of — of  my  husband.  Perhaps 
what  I  did  tell  wasn't  any  more  creditable,  but  it  didn't 
reflect  on  him,  anyhow.  It  didn't  seem  so  bad  to  reflect 
on  one's  own  kin — especially  as  it  wasn't  true.  It  couldn't 
hurt  your  uncle,  either — seeing  he  was  dead." 

"  I  understand,"  said  the  daughter. 

"  Well,  she  took  the— the  child,"  said  the  woman  bit 
terly,  hurrying  along  in  her  story.  "  She  took  it  and  went 
off  West.  I  gave  her  five  hundred  dollars ;  she  was  poor, 
you  see,  and  I  put  money  in  the  bank  to  pay  her  a  good 
sum  every  year  until  it  was  of  age.  I  was  to  pay  for  the 
schooling  too — it  was  to  be  well  educated.  I  didn't  want 
the  innocent  child  to  suffer  on  account  of — of  others,  you 
know." 

"  Of  course,"  assented  Lilian. 

"As  I  said,  Sally  Weeks — that  was  the  woman's  name — 
went  West,  and  married  in  less  than  a  year  after;  the 
effect  of  a  little  money,  I  s'pose.  She  was  honest,  though, 
and  wrote  me  about  it  beforehand.  She  proposed  to  keep 
the  child  if  I  was  willing,  and  give  it  her  husband's  name. 
I  told  her  I  didn't  care  what  she  called  the  child,  or  what 
she  <id  with  her,  as  long  as  she  took  good  care  of  her  and 
gave  her  a  fair  show.  As  it  happened,  I  never  learned 

her  husband's  name.     She  always  wrote  to  me  in  her  old 
28 


434  \ICkl' ALE  &ASTMA\. 

name,  and  I  sent  the  money  to  the  bank  where  I  first  put 
it  to  be  deposited  to  her  account.  I  don't  know  whether 
they  ever  knew  that  she  was  married.  She  had  no  chil 
dren  of  her  own  and  became  very  fond  of  this  one.  But 
wickedness  can't  be  hid.  The  sin  of  the  father  is  always 
visited  upon  the  children.  She  wrote  me  all  about  send 
ing  her  to  school,  and  how  proud  they  were  of  her,  and 
once  she  sent  me  her  photograph.  But  I  burned  her  let 
ters  as  soon  as  I  read  them— all  but  one.  That  was  the 
last.  I  cut  off  the  address  and  left  it  where  your  father 
would  see  it.  There  was  no  name  to  it,  only  her  initials. 
I  thought  he  ought  to  know  about  it." 

The  woman  spoke  with  bitter  austerity. 

"The  child  is  dead,  then?"  asked  Lilian  with  some 
show  of  sorrow,  though  experiencing  a  sense  of  relief. 

"Dead?"  repeated  her  mother  with  angry  vehemence. 
"  It  would  be  well  for  her  and  Wilton  Kishu  too,  if  she 
were.  She  couldn't  have  been  more  than  sixteen  or  sev 
enteen  when  she  ran  away!"  said  Mrs.  Kishu  in  low, 
horrified  tones.  "  Lilian,"  she  continued  solemnly,  "  that 
is  one  reason  I  have  always  wanted  to  live  abroad.  I 
can't  sleep,  with  thinking  of  that  girl.  Suppose  she  should 
come  and  claim  relationship!  " 

"  You  say  she  was  good-looking,"  said  Lilian  lightly. 
»  "A  great,  black-eyed,  bold-faced  huzzy!     That's  what 
her  picture  showed  her,"  said  the  angry  woman.     "  I'd 
like  to  know  what  her  mother  was  like — some  low-down 
servant  girl,  I  suppose !  " 

"And  handsome — the  girl,  I  mean?" 

"  I  suppose  she  would  be  called  so.  She'll  come  yet. 
Wilton  Kishu  hasn't  heard  the  last  of  that  girl!  " 

"Wouldn't  that  be  nice?"  said  Lilian,  artlessly. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  child?  " 


UNCOVERING  A    CRATER. 


435 


"Why,  we  would  make  such  nice  foils  for  each  other." 

"For  each  other?" 

"Yes;  why  not?" 

"  Do  you  think  I  would  let  her  come  under  this  roof?  " 

"You  wouldn't  make  a  scandal,  I  hope,  mamma?" 

"  Do  you  see  that?  "  She  held  a  little  vial  toward  her 
daughter.  "  I  told  your  father,  then,  I'd  take  it  if  he  ever 
looked  at  the  mother  again  or  tried  to  find  the  child,  and 
I  will!  The  day  he  finds  that  child,  that  very  day— I'll 
— I'll  do  it.  I  ain't  going  to  sit  still  as  so  many  rich  men's 
wives  do  and  have  my  husband  raising  three  or  four  fami 
lies  like  a  Mormon!  And  you  may  as  well  understand 
it,  too.  I  don't  object  to  his  giving  her  money,  if  she 
needs  it,  but  nothing  more.  And  as  to  her  coming  here 
— I  should  think  you'd  be  ashamed,  Lilian,  after  such 
disgraceful  conduct!  " 

"  I  don't  see  what  disgrace  there  is  in  running  away. 
I  suppose  they  made  her  work  too  hard." 

"  But  she  didn't  work  at  all.  She  was  at  school,  and 
ran  away  with  a  gambler !  " 

"  I'm  sure  that's  nothing  against  her.  Why,  you  want 
me  to  marry  one — one  who  can't  pay  his  losses  either. 
I  hope  hers  had  better  luck." 

"  But  she  wasn't  even  married!  " 

"  So  much  the  better  for  her.  She  could  dismiss  him 
when  she  chose,  then.  You  are  sure  she  wasn't  married?  " 

"  I  know  nothing  about  it  except  Sally  Weeks's  last  let 
ter.  I  never  heard  of  her  afterward." 

"  Have  you  got  that  letter,  mamma?  "  asked  Lilian,  after 
a  moment's  silence. 

The  mother  nodded  affirmatively. 

"  Won't  you  let  me  have  it?  " 

"  Why  should  you  want  it?  " 


436  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

"  I  am  afraid,  mother,  that  your  jealousy  led  you  to 
do  a  great  wrong  which  may  make  us  a  great  deal  of 
trouble." 

She  went  and  laid  her  hand  on  her  mothers  gray  head 
as  she  spoke. 

"  What  is  it?"  asked  Mrs.  Kishu,  starting  up  in  fear. 
"  Have  you  heard  anything,  Lilian?  Oh,  what  a  pity  we 
did  not  go  abroad  before!  " 

"I  have 'heard  nothing,  mother,  but  I  am  sure  you  are 
wrong.  Won't  you  let  me  have  the  letter?  It  may  not 
yet  be  too  late  to  remedy  the  evil." 

"  I  suppose  I  might  as  well,"  said  the  mother,  yielding 
as  she  always  did  yield  to  her  daughter's  wishes,  no  matter 
how  vehemently  she  might  oppose  them  at  first.  She 
went  to  her  desk  and  took  a  letter  out  of  one  of  those 
drawers  which  are  called  "concealed,"  simply  because 
they  are  inconvenient,  handed  it  to  her  daughter  and, 
sitting  down,  began  to  weep. 

When  Lilian  had  read  the  letter  th'rough  carefully,  her 
mother  looked  up  and  said  tearfully: 

"Do  you  think  I  was  wrong  —  quite  wrong,  Lily? 
From  the  start,  I  mean?" 

"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it,  and  think  you  will  soon  see  it 
so,  yourself." 

"I  am  sure  I  hope  so,  though  it  would  be  too  good  to 
believe,"  said  the  weeping  woman,  smiling  through  her 
tears.  She  was  thinking  of  the  husband  she  had  wronged, 
not  of  the  child  whose  life  had  been  blighted,  or  the  pa 
rents  whose  hearts  had  been  wrung. 

"  Do  you  know,  Lilian,"  she  continued,  "  I  would  give 
half  we  are  worth  to  believe  that — that  I  had  made  a  mis 
take." 

The  daughter  wondered  if  this  would  not  help  her  bear 


TRUSTEES  OF  DIVINE   PURPOSE.  437 

the  loss  her  folly  had  entailed.  Was  it  her  mother's  folly 
or  her  father's  fault  which  the  avenger  Time  was  punish 
ing  so  relentlessly? 


CHAPTER   XL. 

TRUSTEES  OF   DIVINE  PURPOSE. 

THE  regular  meeting  of  the  Ministerial  Association  of 
which  Murvale-  Eastman  was  a  member  occurred  just 
when  the  affairs  of  Wilton  Kishu  were  at  their  worst. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  years  he  was  not  present  to 
listen  to  its  deliberations.  His  absence  was  remarked 
with  universal  regret,  for  he  was  not  only  the  most  widely 
known,  but  one  of  the  most  highly  esteemed  members  of 
the  denomination,  to  whose  interests  he  was  devoted. 
The  differences  between  him  and  the  pastor  and  Church 
of  the  Golden  Lilies  were  greatly  deplored  and  very  gen 
erally  discussed  by  the  audience  which  had  gathered  under 
a  general  belief  that  in  some  way  or  other  the  relations  of 
that  church  to  the  league  of  Christian  Socialists  would  be 
brought  to  the  attention  of  the  Association.  This  idea 
seemed  to  have  got  abroad  very  generally,  and  the  news 
papers  of  the  city  were  in  consequence  very  fully  repre 
sented  by  experienced  and  reliable  reporters. 

A  cleaner,  brighter,  more  alert,  and  courageous-looking 
body  of  men  than  the  two-score  members  of  this  Minis 
terial  Association,  who  occupied  the  front  seats  on  each 
side  of  the  mid'dle  aisle  of  the  church  in  which  it  met, 
could  hardly  be  found  betwixt  the  two  oceans  which 
bound  our  land  of  many  wonders.  There*was,  perhaps, 
a  somewhat  marked  predominance  of  young  men,  Un- 


458  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

til  recently,  mature  years  have  generally  been  regarded  as 
almost  a  sine  qua  non  of  eminence  in  the  Church.  Of  late, 
however,  the  young  Timothys  have  been  driving  the  older 
laborers  of  the  vineyard  into  retirement  and  obscurity  at 
a  tremendous  rate.  Every  young  divine,  like  every  well- 
bred  colt,  is  looked  upon  as  a  possible  "phenomenon;" 
while  the  man  of  middle  age  is  supposed  to  have  already 
done  his  best,  and  the  church  which  calls  him  expects  that 
he  will  steadily  deteriorate  upon  its  hands,  and  perhaps  at 
last  leave  an  ill-provided  family  appealing  unpleasantly  to 
their  charity,  just  when  they  are  in  need  of  all  their  re 
sources  to  secure  a  new  "  attraction."  There  were  few 
gray  hairs  in  the  Association,  therefore,  though  there  were 
some  bald  heads.  The  members  evidently  faced  the  fu 
ture  confidently  rather  than  the  past  boastfully.  Hearti 
ness  rather  than  dignity  marked  their  greeting  of  each 
other,  and  the  occupants  of  the  pews  shared  in  their  salu 
tations  quite  as  freely  as  their  ministerial  associates. 

While  the  audience  was  collecting  the  church  presented 
that  gay  and  sparkling  appearance  which  only  an  Ameri 
can  audience  thoroughly  at  its  ease  ever  offers  to  the  be 
holder's  gaze.  Well-dressed  ladies,  with  bright,  refined 
faces  greatly  predominated,  interspersed  with  middle-aged 
men.  Except  the  ministers  there  were  few  young  men  in 
the  audience,  and  there  was  a  similar  dearth  of  young 
women.  It  was  evident,  at  a  glance,  that  the  time  had 
passed  when  the  family  group  merged  almost  insensibly 
into  the  Church  and  all  the  members  felt  an  equal  inter 
est  in  its  prosperity.  To-day  gives  leisure  only  to  those 
in  life's  decline  to  waste  the  golden  work-day  hours  in  lis 
tening  to  the  plans  that  may  be  evolved  for  promoting 
the  prosperity  of  Zion. 

The  were  some  among  these  servants  of  the  Most  High 


TRUSTEES   OF  DIVINE    PURPOSE.  439 

upon  whose  faces  time  had  set  the  seal  of  failure.  Some 
of  these  tried  to  carry  it  off  jauntily,  but  failed  sadly  in 
the  attempt.  No  man  can  see  himself  sinking  farther  and 
farther  below  the  level  of  professional  distinction  to  which 
every  worthy  man  at  some  time  in  his  life  aspires,  with 
out  feeling  it — least  of  all  a  minister.  To  some  this  state 
of  things  had  brought  resignation ;  to  others  discontent. 
These,  for  the  most  part,  sat  quietly  in  their  places  wait 
ing  for  the  meeting  to  open,  some  talking  with  each  other, 
some  sitting  apart  silent  and  reserved. 

Of  these  latter  was  Dr.  Phue.  He  had  taken  a  promi 
nent  seat  near  the  front,  his  eye  burning  with  unwonted 
fire  and  his  pale  cheek  showing  the  delicate  glow  of  re 
awakened  hope.  His  hour  had  come ;  the  hour  for  which 
he  had  waited  so  long  when  he  could  show  himself  the 
champion  of  the  Church,  the  defender  of  the  Faith! 
Clean-shaven,  erect,  self-important,  and  'severe,  he  sat  at 
the  end  of  the  pew  next  the  aisle,  waiting  impatiently  for 
the  moment  when  the  lists  should  be  opened  and  he 
should  put  lance  in  rest,  and  slay  the  foe  who  threatened 
destruction  to  the  Church  he  loved !  Dear,  simple-hearted, 
pure-souled,  blind-eyed  survivor  of  a  past  glorious  in  pur 
pose,  but  as  unfitted  for  to-day's  conflicts  as  the  Knight 
of  the  Rueful  Countenance  to  win  distinction  on  a  bat 
tle-field  where  arms  of  precision  and  smokeless  powder  are 
the  implements  of  strife !  \  . 

The  tide  of  mutual  greeting  flowed  past  him,  rather 
than  bore  him  along  with  it.  Not  that  any  of  the  breth 
ren  were  neglectful  or  that  any  regarded  him  with  indif> 
ference.  Though  his  foibles  were  well  understood,  all 
respected  the  sincerity  and  learning  of  the  simple-minded 
man  whose  thought  was  so  sadly  out  of  harmony  with  that 
of  the  day  in  which  he  lived, 


440  MVRVALE  EASTMAN. 

His  lips  worked  tremulously,  his  false  teeth  showing  in 
unnatural  whiteness  between  their  thin  edges  as  he  nib 
bled  them  with  nervous  unconsciousness  while  he  conned 
over  and  over  the  words  of  his  projected  discourse.  His 
linen,  frayed  though  it  might  be,  was  scrupulously  white. 
The  tie  beneath  his  smooth-shaved  chin — so  squarely  tied 
that  each  bow  extended  exactly  the  width  of  the  tie  from 
the  overlapping  band — was  of  the  most  pellucid  lawn. 
His  hands,  white  and  shrunken,  were  those  of  the  scholar, 
and  despite  some  callous  marks  of  toil  on  the  palms,  were 
faultlessly  kept  as  became  a  careful  servant  of  the  Mas 
ter.  His  clothes — is  there  anything  more  pathetic  than 
the  ministerial  garb  when  time  has  touched  the  seams  and 
the  tooth  of  poverty  has  gnawed  little  indentations  on 
the  exposed  edges !  What  a  story  it  tells  of  pride  and 
want  and  trusting  hope,  struggling  with  inevitable  de 
cadence! 

He  placed  his  well-worn  silk  hat  on  the  seat  beside  him 
and  deposited  in  it  a  formidable  roll  of  manuscript.  Tak 
ing  from  his  pocket  a  spotless  handkerchief,  he  slowly 
unfolded  it  and  dropped  it,  with  seeming  carelessness, 
beside  the  manuscript  in  the  hat  so  as  effectually  to  con 
ceal  the  soiled  lining.  Then  he  waited,  smoothing  now 
and  then  the  scanty  hair  upon  his  crown  with  his  white 
fingers,  his  thin  lips  twitching  and  his  blue  eyes  moving 
restlessly  under  the  long  straggling  brows.  He  was  su 
premely  happy!  The  burden  of  chagrin  and  failure  he 
had  carried  so  long  had  been  lifted  from  his  heart!  His 
time  had  come — the  hour  for  which  he  had  lived  and  toiled 
and  studied  and  dreamed — the  hour  when  as  God's  chosen 
instrument  he  should  bruise  the  head  of  error  and  deliver 
the  Church  from  peril! 

Murvale  Eastman  was  among  the  last  to  arrive.     There 


TRUSTEES  OF  DIVINE  PURPOSE.  441 

was  first  a  hush  and  then  a  continuous  murmur  of  com 
ment  as  he  walked  down  the  aisle  and  laid  his  overcoat 
across  the  back  of  the  seat  in  front  of  Dr.  Phue.  He 
greeted  him  courteously,  sat  down  and  sought  to  enter 
into  conversation,  but  the  elder  man  was  too  self-absorbed 
to  talk,  especially  with  the  man  he  was  about  to  attack. 
He  was  no  hypocrite.  He  meant  to  hale  Murvale  East 
man  out  of  his  pulpit  if  voice  and  pen  could  accomplish 
it,  and  though  he  had  no  personal  ill-will  for  him,  he  would 
not  seem  to  make  a  display  of  cordiality  toward  him.  So 
Murvale  sauntered  off  to  speak  to  other  friends;  the 
audience  watched  his  motions  curiously,  and  Dr.  Phue's 
eyes  followed  him  with  exultant  anticipation. 

The  meeting  was  called  to  order ;  a  chapter  of  the  Holy 
Word  was  read;  a  hymn  was  sung,  and  the  congregation 
bowed  in  prayer.  Dr.  Phue  tried  to  listen  with  scrupulous 
attention,  but  do  what  he  would  his  mind  would  wander 
to  the  triumph  he  was  about  to  achieve.  Hardly  were 
the  opening  exercises  concluded  when  he  was  on  his  feet, 
manuscript  in  hand,  his  black-framed  pince-nez  close 
gripped  in  his  upraised  fingers: 

"Mr.  Chairman!" 

His  thin  quavering  voice  was  tremulous  with  eagerness. 

"  If  Dr.  Phue  will  delay  a  little,  there  are  some  com 
munications  to  be  read." 

The  chairman  nodded  to  the  secretary.  The  scribe 
rose  and  read: 

"  To  the  members  of  the  Ministers'  Association  of 

"DEARLY  BELOVED  BRETHREN: — "For  reasons  which 
seem  to  me  good  and  sufficient,  I  have  decided  to  ter 
minate  a  relation  which  I  trust  may  some  time  be  re 
sumed  with  pleasure  and  advantage,  and  hereby  notify 


442 


J7  UR  VA  LE   EA  S  7 'MA  i\ '. 


you  that  I  have  withdrawn  from  the  membership  of  the 
Association.     With  sincerest    fraternal  regard,   I  remain 
"  Your  fellow-servant, 

"MURVALE  EASTMAN." 

Before  the  surprised  and  confounded  Dr.  Phue  had  time 
to  catch  his  breath,  an  alert  young  member  was  on  his 
feet  and  moved  the  acceptance  of  the  resignation. 

"But,  Mr.  Chairman,  I  object!  "  exclaimed  the  venera 
ble  champion  of  a  nicely  squared  belief  "  I  object! '' 

His  voice  rang  shrill  and  angry  through  the  church. 
The  inquisitor  was  afraid  his  intended  victim  might  es 
cape.  The  audience  waited  with  breathless  attention  lest 
they  should  lose  a  single  word. 

"  The  motion  is  out  of  order/'  said  the  chairman  quietly, 
"  or,  rather,  it  is  unnecessary.  Brother  Eastman  required 
the  votes  of  a  majority  of  this  body  to  become  a  member 
of  it,  but  he  has  a  perfect  right  to  terminate  that  relation 
whenever  he  sees  fit  to  do  so.  Having  exercised  that 
right  and  voluntarily  withdrawn,  he  is  no  longer  a  mem 
ber  of  this  body." 

A  look  of  satisfaction  stole  over  the  faces  of  the  mem 
bers  of  the  Association  at  this  decision.  Heresy-hunting 
has  become  especially  unpopular  among  those  who  by  the 
publicity  of  their  utterances  are  most  liable  to  become 
the  victims  of  the  infallible  believers  zeal. 

"  But,  Mr.  Chairman/'  persisted  Dr.  Phue,  with  unmis 
takable  warmth,  "  it  is  against  all  rule  and  precedent,  both 
in  the  Church  and  among  all  voluntary  associations,  of 
every  sort  and  character,  to  permit  a  member  to  resign 
when  there  are  charges  pending  against  him.  In  that 
case,  it  is  the  universal  rule  and  practice  that  a  member 
can  resign  only  by  leave  of  the  association/' 


TRUSTEES  OF  DIVINE   PURPOSE. 


443 


"Are  there  any  charges  against  Brother  Eastman  on 
file  ?  "  asked  the  chairman  of  the  secretary. 

"  None,"  was  the  reply. 

"  Here  are  the  charges,  sir,''  said  Dr.  Phue,  holding  up 
his  manuscript.  He  had  caught  up  his  handkerchief  with 
it,  and  waved  it  back  and  forth  with  the  written  sheets 
like  a  flag  of  truce  tied  to  a  bayonet.  "  I  have  them,  sir; 
they  are  here  ready  to  be  filed.  I  offer  them  now.  More 
than  one  member  of  this  Association  knew  that  I  intended 
to  offer  them  at  this  meeting.  Brother  Eastman  himself 
knew  it ;  and  I  charge  him,  here  and  now,  with  having 
withdrawn  from  this  Association  in  order  to  avoid  an  in 
quiry  in  regard  to  his  orthodoxy — the  conformity  of  his 
teachings  to  the  accepted  standards  of  the  Church.  He 
dare  not  deny  it." 

Dr.  Phue  sat  down,  his  eyes  flashing,  his  hands  trem 
bling,  and  his  smooth  crown  showing  the  flush  of  excitement 
that  burned  upon  his  face  through  the  straggling  locks  so 
carefully  combed  across  the  glistening  expanse.  All  eyes 
were  turned  on  Murvale  Eastman.  He  rose  slowly  and 
without  any  show  of  excitement  said: 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  Brethren,  have  I  leave  to  make  a 
brief  statement?  " 

The  chairman  bowed  assent. 

He  continued: 

"  It  is  quite  true,  as  Brother  Phue  has  stated,  that  I  did 
know  of  his  intention  to  propose  at  this  meeting  the  in 
quiry  he  alludes  to,  and  also  true  that  I  withdrew  from 
this  Association  to  avoid  that  inquiry.  I  will  say  further 
that  whenever  it  becomes  the  deliberate  conviction  of  any 
organized  body  of  my  brethren  in  the  ministry  that  such 
an  inquiry  is  necessary  or  desirable,  I  will  resign  my 
credentials  as  a  Christian  minister,  and  if  they  shall  deem 


444  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

it  needful  to  pursue  such  inquiry  further,  I  will  withdraw 
from  membership  with  the  Church  rather  than  become  a 
party  to  such  a  proceeding.  I  have  long  since  determined 
never  to  appear  before  any  body  of  men  as  respondent  to 
a  charge  of  dissent,  believing  such  inquiries,  whatever 
their  result,  to  be  harmful  to  the  Master's  cause,  and  being 
fully  determined  not  to  allow  any  pride  of  opinion  to 
make  me  a  stumbling-block,  even  though  I  may  be  unable 
to  be  of  service  to,  that  cause.  I  have  learned  that 
'neither  in  this  mountain  nor  at  Jerusalem  shall  men 
worship  the  Father '  and  am  daily  led  to  see  more  clearly 
that  the  Church  has  no  monopoly  of  Christian  work  and 
no  exclusive  control  of  Christian  faith.  There  is  enough 
to  do  outside  the  pale  of  her  activities,  and  one  needs  not 
the  Church's  approval  to  secure  him  entrance  at  the 
strait  gate.  The  Church  has  a  right  to  prescribe  its  own 
standards  of  faith  if  it  chooses,  but  only  personal  pride  or 
sheer  self-interest,  as  it  seems  to  me,  can  induce  any  one 
to  enter  into  a  contest  to  decide  whether  those  standards 
fit  his  faith  or  not. 

"  Charges  affecting  my  moral  character  or  Christian  de 
portment  I  shall  always  be  ready  to  meet;  those  affecting 
only  the  correctness  of  my  religious  views  I  shall  always 
avoid.  The  Church  would  better  dispense  with  my  serv 
ices  and  I  would  much  better  be  bereft  of  her  consola 
tions,  than  engage  in  a  soul-blighting  controversy  with  her 
as  to  whether  my  faith  exactly  conforms  to  her  standards 
or  her  standards  exactly  measure  the  limits  of  my  faith." 

There  was  a  murmur  of  approval  as  the  young  minister 
sat  down. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  exclaimed  the  excited  prosecutor, 
"  the  document  which  I  hold  in  my  hand  embraces  a  charge 
of  the  gravest  sort  against  the  moral  character  of  Rev. 


TRUSTEES  OF  DIVINE   PURPOSE.  445 

Murvale  Eastman  as  a  Christian  and  a  minister.  Will 
the  gentleman  try  to  dodge  that  charge  also?  " 

Murvale  Eastman  turned  and  looked  sharply  at  his  as 
sailant  as  this  statement  was  made.  There  was  a  moment 
of  the  most  profound  silence.  When  he  rose  to  reply  his 
face  was  pale,  but  his  manner  was  calm  and  unimpas- 
sioned. 

"  Mr.  Chairman,"  he  said,  "  I  did  not  suppose  that  I 
should  ever  be  called  upon  to  listen  to  such  a  statement, 
but  we  all  know  Dr.  Phue  too  well  to  suppose  that  he 
would  make  such  a  charge  without  a  profound  belief  in 
its  truth.  I  therefore  request  that  the  brethren  of  this 
Association  will  listen  to  such  charge  here  and  now,  and 
decide  whether  it  is  worthy  of  farther  consideration.  I 
make  this  as  a  personal  request,  and  pledge  myself,  if  any 
such  charge  can  be  sustained,  to  relinquish  at  once  and 
forever  my  place  in  the  ranks  of  the  ministery." 

With  some  hesitancy  the  Association  decided  to  com 
ply  with  this  request,  and  Dr.  Phue  was  invited  to  state 
what  charges  he  desired  to  make  affecting  the  moral  char 
acter  of  the  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies. 

Under  this  permission  the  self-absorbed  prosecutor 
endeavored  to  read  the  whole  array  of  charges  he  had  for 
mulated  in  regard  to  the  teachings  and  opinions  of  Mur 
vale  Eastman  in  connection  with  the  organization  of  the 
League  of  Christian  Socialists.  Not  being  allowed  to 
do  this  he  proceeded,  not  without  some  display  of  anger, 
to  read  the  twelfth  and  last  charge  in  his  formidable 
indictment : 

XII. — Conduct  unbecoming  a  Christian  and  a  minister. 

I.  Publishing  and  uttering  falsehood.  Specification  :  That  on 
the  day  and  at  the  time  named  in  the  foregoing  specifications,  to  wit, 
on  the  occasion  of  the  organization  of  said  League,  the  said  Murvale 


446  ^ruR^ALI•: 

Eastman  in  the  course  of  his  remarks  said  :  "In  conclusion,  I  beg" 
to  call  your  attention  to  the  sentiment  contained  in  the  following  beau 
tiful  lines  from  the  Russian  of  Worsoff,  entitled  'Truth.'"  And 
thereupon  the  said  Eastman  repeated  the  following  stanzas  : 

Dr.  Phue  here  read  the  lines  which  the  reader  has  seen, 
and  continued: 

"  The  said  Eastman  well  knowing  that  said  lines  were  not  from 
the  Russian,  were  not  written  by  said  pretended  poet  Worsoff,  and 
that  no  such  poet  is  in  existence  or  ever  has  existed,  and  by  such 
statement  did  utter  and  publish,  knowingly  and  purposely,  a  false 
hood,  to  the  scandal  of  the  Church  and  in  violation  of  the  teaching 
and  commandment  of  Christ." 

When  Dr.  Phue  had  finished  reading  this  he  looked 
solemnly  around  upon  the  congregation,  and  turning  to 
the  chairman  said: 

"  That,  sir,  is  the  charge." 

"  Is  that  all?  "  asked  the  moderator,  with  a  smile. 

"All?"  said  the  chief  inquisitor  haughtily.  "  Is  it  not 
enough?  A  lie  is  a  lie,  sir,  whether  it  concerns  some  silly 
verses  or  the  life  of  a  fellow-man.  I  ctand  ready  to  prove 
every  word  of  that  specification.  I  have  here  the  report 
of  that  meeting,  a  verbatim  report,  sir,  by  one  of  the  most 
skillful  stenographers  of  the  country,  Mr.  Joseph  Lamp- 
son.  I  presume  no  one  will  question  either  his  accuracy 
or  ability.  I  am  not  able  to  verify  it  by  his  oath,  but  the 
entire  report  is  in  his  handwriting,  and  I  presume  Mr. 
Eastman  will  not  require  proof  of  that,  or  pretend  that 
he  took  these  lines  from  the  works  of  any  Russian  poet, 
or  that  there  is  a  Russian  poet  of  that  name.'' 

There  was  not  a  hint  of  a  smile  on  Murvale  Eastman's 
face  as  he  rose  to  reply  to  this  appeal. 

"  Our  venerable  friend,  Dr.  Phue,1'  he  said,  "  has  been 
made  the  victim  of  a  singular  delusion.  I  certainly  cannot 


TRUSTEES  OF  DIVINE   PURPOSE.  447 

affirm  that  there  is  a  Russian  poet  named  Worsoff,  or  ever 
has  been.  So  far  as  I  can  now  recall,  I  do  not  know  the 
name  of  any  Russian  poet,  nor  do  I  think  I  ever  read  a 
Russian  poem.  I  never  saw  nor  heard  the  lines  referred 
to  by  Dr.  Phue  until  he  read  them,  and  quoted  no  verse 
of  any  sort  in  the  address  to  which  he  refers.  I  have 
recently  received  by  mail  a  copy  of  some  verses  in  the 
handwriting  of  Mr.  Lampson,  and  am  informed  that  he  is 
accustomed  to  sign  his  metrical  effusions  '  Worsoff  the 
Russian,'  in  jesting  allusion  to  his  own  infirmities.  I  do 
not  doubt  that  Dr.  Phue,  I  hope  through  no  wish  of  his 
own",  has  been  made  the  victim  of  this  man's  morbid  de 
sire  for  fame,  or  perhaps  I  should  say  notoriety." 

While  he  was  speaking  Frank  Marsh  had  left  the  report 
ers'  table  and  gave  a  note  to  the  secretary,  who  passed 
it  on  to  the  chairman.  Dr.  Phue  examined  closely  the 
verses  handed  to  hrm  by  Eastman  and  compared  them 
with  those  in  the  report.  When  Eastman  sat  down  the 
chairman  said  that  while  he  did  not  deem  it  necessary,  he 
would,  with  the  consent  of  the  Association,  ask  Mr.  Marsh, 
of  the  Breeze,  to  state  what  he  knew  about  the  matter. 

Thus  called  upon,  Frank  Marsh  stated  that  he  was 
present  at  the  meeting  referred  to,  made  a  verbatim  re 
port  of  all  that  occurred  on  that  occasion,  and  had  the 
original  stenographic  notes  now  with  him ;  that  Mr.  East 
man  not  only  did  not  make  the  statement  attributed  to 
him,  but  did  not  quote  the  lines  referred  to.  or  any  lines 
whatever  in  any  part  of  his  remarks.  He  farther  stated 
that  he  sat  at  the  same  table  with  Mr.  Lampson  that 
night;  that  Lampson  did  not  take  the  speeches  steno- 
graphically,  but  during  the  evening  showed  him  a  copy  of 
verses  which  he  claimed  to  have  written,  and  which,  so  far 
as  he  could  remember,  were  the  lines  read  by  Dr.  Phue. 


448  MURVALE  EASTMAN*. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  and  then  the  venerable 
accuser  arose  and  in  the  most  contrite  manner  said : 

"  Mr.  Chairman  and  Brethren,  I  have  to  confess  that 
I  have  been  guilty  of  a  grievous  and  inexcusable  wrong, 
for  which  I  ask  your  pardon,  the  pardon  of  our  brother 
Eastman,  and  the  forgiveness  of  my  Heavenly  Father. 
I  would  ask  to  withdraw  the  charge,  but  the  brother  who 
was  wronged  by  its  introduction  has  a  right  to  a  vote  of 
exculpation,  and  the  Association  in  justice  to  itself  should 
pass  a  vote  of  censure  against  me  for  having  introduced 
the  same.  I  did  not  knowingly  bring  a  false  charge, 
Brethren,  but  I  did  it  without  specifically  calling  it  to  our 
brother's  attention  or  seeking  to  obtain  an  explanation. 
It  was  a  grievous  wrong,  and  I  admit  that  I  deserve  your 
censure/' 

Tears  were  running  down  his  cheeks,  but  the  rugged- 
souled  old  saint  was  as  zealous  for  his  own  punishment 
as  a  little  while  before  he  had  been  for  the  chastisement 
of  his  brother.  There  were  few  dry  eyes  in  the  audience 
when  he  concluded,  but  a  round  of  hearty  applause  burst 
forth  when  Murvale  Eastman  asked  that  no  farther  action 
be  taken  in  the  matter  and  no  word  or  report  of  the  pro 
ceedings  already  had  be  made,  adding  that  he  hoped 
before  a  great  while,  if  Dr.  Phue  would  consent,  to  ask 
the  approval  of  the  brethren  to  his  installation  as  assistant 
pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies. 

Then  there  was  a  wringing  of  hands,  a  wiping  of  eyes, 
and  a  hymn  was  sung  full  of  peace  and  the  quiet  rapture 
of  reconciliation. 

At  its  conclusion  the  chairman  humorously  remarked 
that  it  was  the  first  time  he  had  known  any  real  good  to 
come  out  of  a  charge  of  heresy.  He  believed  that  noth 
ing  more  clearly  showed  a  healthful  progress  in  the 


fS  FAITH  HOSTILE    TO   HUMANITY?         449 

Church,  a  wider  and  truer  appreciation  of  the  Christ- 
spirit,  than  the  fact  that  the  Church  found  something  bet 
ter  to  do  with  its  dissenters  than  to  drive  them  from  pos 
sible  error  into  almost  inevitable  unbelief.  Instead  of 
persecuting,  it  now  set  even  the  man  suspected  of  dis 
sent  to  work  for  man's  good  arid  God's  glory,  saying,  as 
the  Master  said  of  the  unauthorized  healer  in  His  name, 
"  He  that  is  not  against  us  is  for  us." 


CHAPTER    XLI. 

IS    FAITH    HOSTILE    TO    HUMANITY? 

WHEN  the  chairman  had  concluded  his  remarks,  a  mem 
ber  rose  and  said  that  as  Mr.  Eastman  must  be  satisfied, 
from  what  had  occurred,  that  he  had  the  sympathy  of  the 
Association,  he  hoped  he  would  resume  his  membership, 
and  in  order  that  there  should  be  no  embarrassment 
connected  with  it,  he  moved  that  the  Rev.  Murvale  East 
man  be  cordially  requested  to  withdraw  his  letter  of  resig 
nation  and  continue  a  member  of  the  Association. 

Before  the  motion  could  be  put  the  young  minister  rose 
and  said: 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  I  hope  this  motion  will  not  be  pressed. 
While  fully  sensible  of  the  kindly  spirit  which  prompts  it, 
and  very  grateful  for  the  confidence  which  my  brethren 
have  shown,  not  only  to-day  but  at  all  times,  and  doubt 
ing  not  that  in  the  future  as  in  the  past  I  should  be  sure 
of  fraternal  forbearance  and  kindly  consideration,  it  seems 
to  me  not  altogether  fitting  that  the  Association  should 
make  such  a  request.  While  it  is  true  that  my  resigna 
tion  was  presented  at  this  time  in  order  to  avoid  the 
29 


450  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

controversy  which  might  be  precipitated  by  Dr.  Phue's 
intended  arraignment,  which  I  felt  it  my  duty  for  the 
sake  of  the  Church  to  avoid,  yet  it  was  not  made  on  that 
account  alone,  nor  intended  to  be  retracted  when  those 
charges  should  be  withdrawn.  On  the  contrary,  it  was 
deliberately  made  and  intended  to  continue  in  force  so 
long  as  existing  conditions  remain. 

"  My  Brethren  are  aware  that  circumstances  have  placed 
me  in  a  position  which  some  of  them  disapprove,  which 
others  doubt  whether  I  had  a  right  to  assume,  and  still 
others  perhaps  question  the  policy  of  assuming  because 
of  my  relation  to  the  Church.  As  I  have  already  stated, 
I  recognize  the  fact  that,  with  the  best  intentions,  one 
may  do  much  harm,  and  I  have  long  since  determined 
that,  so  far  as  can  be  avoided,  the  Church  shall  receive 
no  detriment  through  any  action  of  mine.  As  members 
of  this  Association,  you  become  in  a  sense  sponsors  for 
my  acts,  and  I  am  in  sense  accountable  in  Christian 
courtesy  and  kindness  to  you.  While  I  have  the  utmost 
regard  for  the  individual  and  collective  judgment  of  my 
brethren,  I  yet  feel  that  in  this  matter  I  am  acting  under 
divine  leading,  and  may  be  compelled  to  adopt  views 
which  they  might  hesitate  to  approve. 

"  In  other  words,  Brethren,  I  feel  that  the  League  of 
Christian  Socialists  is  an  experiment  which  you  as  Chris 
tian  ministers  are  not  yet  called  upon  to  indorse.  I  do 
not  doubt  your  hearty  sympathy  with  whatever  professes 
to  have  in  view  the  progress  of  humanity.  The  love  of 
God  inclines  instinctively  to  love  of  man,  even  if  it  were 
not  specifically  enjoined  upon  us;  but  what  is  intended 
for  good,  by  reason  of  unwise  or  defective  methods  may 
have  disastrous  or  insignificant  results.  I  have  no  right, 
by  continuing  a  member  of  this  Association,  to  bind  you 


AS*  FAITH  HOSTILE    7V   HUMANITY?         45* 

in  the  eyes  of  the  world  to  assumed  approval  of  my  work, 
and  have  no  desire  to  drive  you  to  formal  denial  of  re 
sponsibility  for  it.  I  believe  the  time  will  come  when  no 
member  of  this  body  will  have  any  doubt  upon  the  sub 
ject,  and  when  every  Christian  believer  the  world  over 
will  see  that  his  first  and  highest  duty  is  to  be,  in  spirit  if 
not  in  name,  a  Christian  Socialist.  It  is  a  work  that  must 
approve  itself  by  results,  however,  and  I  have  no  right 
to  claim  for  it  the  implied  sanction  of  this  body  while 
many  of  its  members  are  still  in  doubt  in  regard  to  it. 

"  Besides  that,  Brethren,  I  cannot  but  recognize  the 
fact  that  it  is  quite  possible  that  this  work  may,  at  no  dis 
tant  day,  require  me  to  give  up  my  pastorate.  Already 
my  duties  have  so  increased  that,  despite  the  liberal  and 
efficient  aid  provided  by  our  League,  I  find  myself  com 
pelled  to  ask  for  help  in  my  pastoral  duties.  My  church 
has  kindly  consented  to  give  me  any  assistance  I  may 
desire.  It  is  possible  that  the  interest  of  the  church  or 
the  league  may  ultimately  require  a  separation  in  their 
supervision.  At  present  there  are  no  indications  of  such 
necessity.  Should  any  such  crisis  occur,  I  do  not  hesi 
tate  to  say  that,  under  present  conditions,  I  should  deem 
it  my  duty  to  abandon  the  ministry,  in  which  my  place 
might  easily  be  more  than  filled  by  many  of  my  brethren, 
to  continue  that  work  to  which  I  seem  to  have  been  espe 
cially  and  individually  called,  and  which — I  trust  you  will 
pardon  me  for  saying  it— I  believe  to  be  at  this  time  the 
most  important  field  of  Christian  endeavor. 

"Under  these  circumstances,  I  think  every  one  will 
admit  that  it  is  plainly  my  duty,  both  as  a  man  and  as  a 
Christian  minister,  to  leave  the  members  of  this  Associa 
tion  at  liberty  to  approve  or  disapprove  my  work,  as  they 
individually  see  fit  to  do,  by  not  resuming  my  membership 


452  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

in  this  body  until  all  are  satisfied  that  the  Church  can 
receive  no  detriment  thereby.  While  I  believe  the  work 
is  of  God,  it  is  my  duty  and  yours  to  be  jealous  of  the 
Church  and  guard  it  against  mistakes  of  judgment  just  as 
carefully  as  against  intended  assault.  I  trust  the  brethren 
will  appreciate  my  posi'.ion  and  approve  my  conclusion. 
So  far  as  I  know  myself,  I  wish  only  to  serve  the  Master." 

There  was  a  solemn  silence  when  Murvale  Eastman 
took  his  seat.  There  was  nothing  melodramatic  in  his 
words  or  manner,  but  each  one  realized  that  an  earnest 
Christian  soul  stood  ready  to  abandon  what  for  centuries 
had  been  deemed  the  highest  Christian  caste,  because  its 
conditions  might  prove  an  obstruction  to  the  Master's 
work  committed  to  his  hands.  The  situation  was  a  new 
one,  and  impressed  upon  that  body  of  thoughtful  men, 
as  nothing  had  done  before,  the  conviction  that  the  time 
had  come  for  a  new  development  of  the  Christian  idea, 
the  adjustment  of  methods  to  new  conditions.  After  a 
time  the  member  who  had  moved  that  Eastman  be  re 
quested  to  resume  his  membership  arose  and  without  re 
mark  asked  leave  to  withdraw  the  motion.  There  was 
no  objection.  By  his  own  act  Murvale  Eastman  had  re 
lieved  his  brethren  of  responsibility  for  his  acts,  and,  with 
only  his  church  behind  him,  stood  alone  as  the  promoter 
of  the  new  thought.  After  a  time  the  chairman  arose 
and  said: 

"  Every  one  must  recognize  the  solemnity  of  what  has 
just  occurred.  A  Christian  minister  voluntarily  withdraws 
from  the  Association,  not  only  that  he  may  pursue  un- 
trammeled  a  work  which  he  believes  that  God  has  put 
into  his  hands,  but  lest  any  one  should  regard  this  body 
as  tacitly  indorsing  such  work.  I  must  confess  that  it 
strikes  me  with  peculiar  force— this  suggestion  of  a  field 


75  FAITH  HOSTILE    TO  HUMANITY?          453 

of  Christian  endeavor  which  lies  wholly  outside  of  the 
Church,  and  in  which  the  ministerial  relation  might  prove 
obstructive.  Brother  Eastman's  course  has  been  in  the 
highest  degree  honorable  and  manly.  No  one  can  doubt 
his  devotion  to  the  Master's  cause,  and  in  severing  his 
relation,  with  us,  I  am  sure  he  has  brought  himself  and  his 
work  nearer  to  our  hearts.  We  shall  follow  him  with  our 
prayers,  and  trust  that  in  promoting  man's  good  he  may 
have  opened  a  new  field  in  which  men  may  work  for 
God's  glory." 

There  was  another  silence.  At  last,  one  of  the  oldest 
rose  and  said: 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  I  have  long  felt  that  we  are  on  the  eve 
of  great  changes  in  regard  to  Christian  faith  and  Christian 
work.  I  never  thought  that  I  should  live  to  say  it,  but 
I  must  say  that  I  agree  with  Brother  Eastman,  that  the 
most  important  field  of  labor  to-day  lies  outside  the 
churches,  that  it  cannot  be  done  by  the  Church  alone,  and 
no  one  has  yet  found  a  way  to  enable  all  sects  and  creeds 
effectually  to  unite  in  such  work.  I  confess  that  I  do  not 
wholly  understand  this  League  of  Christian  Socialists,  and 
I  for  one  would  be  very  glad  if  he  would  enlighten  us 
somewhat  in  regard  to  its  character." 

This  proposition  was  received  with  evident  satisfaction. 
Murvale  Eastman  was  a  favorite  with  his  ministerial 
brethren,  not  more  on  account  of  his  thorough  manliness 
than  because  of  his  entire  absence  of  assumption.  Per 
haps  this  feeling  was  helped  out  by  the  fact  that,  despite 
his  unusual  good  fortune,  he  was  not  a  great  preacher. 
With  all  their  kindliness,  however,  the  members  of  the 
Association  were  very  far  from  approving  the  course  of 
the  pastor  of  the  Church  of  the  Golden  Lilies.  They 
recognized  his  sincerity,  but  regarded  the  movement  with 


454  ML'Rl'ALE   EASTMAX. 

which  he  had  identified  himself,  not  only  with  that  dis- 
trust  which  always  attends  the  introduction  of  new  methods, 
but  with  peculiar  suspicion  because  of  its  name. 

Christian  Socialism!  Could  the  two  words  be  properly 
joined?  Did  it  not  presage  danger  to  the  Church  to  have 
the  name  of  its  founder  linked  with  so  questionable  an 
idea  as  Socialism?  What,  indeed,  is  Socialism?  There 
was  not  a  member  of  the  Association  who  had  failed  to 
ask  himself  this  question,  and  each  one  had  dived  into 
one  or  more  encyclopedias  for  a  reply.  It  is  wonderful 
what  a  restrictive  power  the  dictionary  and  encyclopedia 
are  coming  to  be.  They  limit  and  define  all  our  thoughts 
for  us.  The  encyclopedia  is  the  steel  helmet  which  the 
modern  thinker  dons  before  entering  the  lists  in  defense 
of  truth.  His  brain  grows  to  the  exact  limit  of  its  circum 
ference  and  then  stops  perforce. 

The  Association  had  an  encyclopedic  notion  of  Social 
ism.  It  was  not  very  clear.  Communism,  nihilism,  an 
archism,  and  something  of  half  a  hundred,  other  isms  per- 
haps,  were  jumbled  uj  together,  and  the  whole  liberally 
besmeared  with  the  blood  of  the  French  Revolution  and 
the  froth  of  Carlyle's  rabid  ravings.  No  wonder  they 
trembled  as  this  indistinct  specter  of  a  horrible  dream 
floated  before  their  eyes !  They  forgot  to  note  that  So 
cialism,  in  its  broad  sense,  is  simply  the  practical  applica 
tion  of  sociology,  and  in  its  limited  sense  the  very  antipode 
of  Anarchism. 

And  Christian  Socialism !  They  remembered  that  the 
early  Christians  had  been  communists,  having  all  things 
in  common,  sending  from  distant  regions  by  the  hand  of 
the  Apostle  a  specific  proportion  of  their  earthly  goods. 
Mockers  have  said  this  was  Christ's  plan.  No  doubt  the 
early  believers  thought  it  to  be  his  idea.  Why  should 


SS  FA 2 Til   HOSTILE    TO   HUMANITY?          455 

they  not?  The  world's  ideas  of  government  and  society 
were  very  crude  at  that  time.  The  Master,  gazing  with 
tears  upon  the  groveling  masses — poor,  ignorant,  degraded, 
oppressed,  helpless,  hopeless,  born  to  serve  and  suffer  and 
die,  begetting  others  only  to  follow  in  their  footsteps  and 
repeat  their  sad  experience — the  divine  Teacher,  catch 
ing  the  secret  of  the  world's  woe,  perceiving  the  one  only 
hope  of  betterment,  had  said  to  the  dulUears  which  heard 
the  words  of  hope  but  only  half-realized  their  purport: 

"All  this  will  be  changed  if  men  will  but  hear  my  voice. 
I  will  lighten  their  burdens,  sweeten  their  toil,  enlarge 
their  joys,  diminish  their  woes.  Nay,  they  shall  them 
selves  perform  these  things  if  they  will  follow  my  teach 
ings."  How?  "Bear  ye  one  another's  burdens.  Let 
each  esteem  his  neighbor's  right  as  his  own.  Whatsoever 
ye  would  that  men  should  do  to  you,  do  ye  even  so  to 
them." 

No  wonder  the  heavy  hearts  were  lightened  and  the 
dull  brains  began  to  plan  to  carry  the  Master's  words  into 
effect  and  bring  fruition  of  this  hope  as  soon  as  he  had 
vanished  from  their  sight!  The  communism  of  the  early 
Christians  was  the  first  attempt  of  the  unbelievers  to  put 
in  practice  his  teachings.  We  do  not  know  how  far  it 
extended,  what  peoples  it  embraced,  by  what  machinery 
it  was  administered.  We  only  know  that  it  found  shelter 
in  the  catacombs  and  was  stamped  out  with  the  goat's 
hoof  of  ambition  when  Constantine  dangled  the  bait  of 
power  before  its  leaders'  dazzled  eyes,  and  offered  the 
chance  to  proselyte  and  persecute  in  all  the  kingdoms  of 
the  earth  if  they  would  permit  him  to  put  the  cross  upon 
his  banner.  He  gave  them  in  charge  the  souls  of  his  sub 
jects  if  they  would  help  him  to  conquer  his  enemies  and 
hold  their  bodies  in  subjection. 


456  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

So  the  first  effort  to  construe  the  Master's  words,  to  ex 
emplify  the  social  theory  he  enunciated,  was  a  failure.  It 
is  little  wonder.  The  world  of  that  day  was  very  sterile 
soil  in  which  to  plant  such  precious  seed.  The  gardeners 
to  whom  its  care  was  committed  had  neither  experience 
nor  preparation.  They  did  not  realize  the  double — let 
us  say  rather  the  universal — nature  of  the  tree  "whose 
leaves  were  for  the  healing  of  the  nations."  So  they  made 
a  bargain  with  the  Devil  that  if  he  would  yield  them 
dominion  over  the  souls  of  men  he  might  work  his  will 
on  their  bodies;  if  he  would  yield  the  empire  of  faith  he 
might  control  the  realm  of  sense.  It  was  a  bad  bargain, 
made  to  be  broken  by  both.  On  it  was  based  the  bondage 
of  ecclesiasticism,  which  was  simply  an  endeavor  to  make 
faith  the  sole  test  of  right;  to  establish  as  a  universal 
principle  the  terrible  dogma  that  the  right  to  live  de 
pended  on  the  acceptance  of  a  sp'ecific  religious  theory. 
From  that  hour  the  mandates  of  the  Church  were  written 
in  blood!  Well  do  we  call  "  dark  "  the  ages  that  followed ! 

Yet  those  misty  centuries  taught  one  lesson  and  taught 
it  well:  that  faith  is  not  the  measure  of  human  right,  and 
f  that  no  demon  is  so  terrible  as  blind-eyed,  red-handed 
Bigotry!  The  rack  and  the  stake  are  hid  away  forever 
under  the  rich  verdure  of  liberty  and  civilization,  but  the 
world  will  always  turn  with  a  shudder  to  the  time  when 
they  were  the  arguments  of  faith  and  the  emblems  of 
righteousness.  The  most  ardent  believer  fears  nothing  to 
day  so  much  as  an  attempt  to  make  individual  liberty  de 
pend  on  religious  belief.  The  Church  itself,  so  far  as 
Protestantism  extends,  has  become  the  stoutest  champion 
of  the  unbeliever's  right. 

So  the  members  of  the  Association  had  a  double  ground 
for  fear.  As  representatives  of  the  Church  they  had  a 


IS   FAITH   IfOSTlLE    TO    HUMANITY?          457 

lively  recollection  of  two  great  errors  in  its  history:  the 
one  the  failure  of  Christian  Communism — a  short,  sweet, 
simple  story,  unstained  with  wrong  and  still  fragrant  with 
heroic  devotion,  brotherly  love,  and  purity  of  life — the 
gentle  thought  the  Saviour's  words  had  generated  in  the 
hearts  of  the  simple  fisher-folk  whom  he  loved!  It  was  too 
frail  a  plant  to  stand  the  rough  blasts  of  the  world.  It 
was  doomed  to  droop  and  die.  Yet  the  Saviour  watered 
the  seed  with  his  tears  and  the  early  believers  tended  and 
trimmed  it  as  best  they  knew.  It  has  been  the  model  of 
many  a  dreamer's  aspiration  since.  On  all  these  dreams  is 
written  "  failure."  Was  "  Christian  Socialism  "  to  be  another 
of  these  failures?  That  was  the  question  the  members  of 
the  Association  asked  themselves. 

They  were  jealous,  too,  of  the  use  of  the  term  "Chris 
tian."  What  right  had  any  one  not  affiliated  with  the 
Church  in  faith  to  wear  the  Cross  upon  his  shoulder  and 
in  that  holy  name  begin  a  crusade  for  humanity?  They 
believed  the  time  had  come  for  a  new  departure ;  they 
felt  the  need  of  new  agencies  and  better  conditions;  but 
they  were  jealous  for  the  faith,  and  were  unwilling  that  it 
should  be  deprived  of  the  sole  and  exclusive  use  of  the 
Christ-name  as  the  trade-mark  of  purpose  or  result.  It 
is  not  strange  that  even  the  most  charitable  and  progres 
sive  servants  of  the  Church  should  have  this  feeling. 
They  were  accustomed  to  think  of  civilization  as  Chris 
tian  in  its  excellences  and  unchristian  in  its  defects.  They 
had  never  thought  of  Christ's  teachings  as  containing  a 
social  philosophy  which  is  the  free  heritage  of  redeemed 
and  unredeemed  alike.  They  forgot  that  to  "  love  thy 
neighbor  as  thyself  "  is  the  privilege  of  the  unbeliever,  as 
well  as  the  duty  of  the  disciple.  So  they  were  jealous  for 
the  faith  they  were  set  to  guard,  as  well  as  tolerant  and 


458  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

hopeful  of  all  that  promised  good.  They  were  pleased 
with  the  attitude  of  the  young  pastor,  both  because  of  the 
care  he  had  exercised  to  prevent  any  detriment  resulting 
to  his  church,  and  the  prudence  and  caution  he  had  ex 
ercised  in  the  organization  of  his  league.  Thus  far  only 
good  seemed  to  have  resulted,  but  they  could  not  with 
out  a  shudder  think  of  a  minister  allying  himself  with  a 
body  assuming  the  name  of  Christian  Socialists,  which 
openly  ignored  all  questions  of  faith  and  admitted  believers 
and  unbelievers  to  the  ranks  on  equal  terms. 

The  Association  really  wanted  light  upon  this  subject 
and  were  more  than  willing  to  give  him  a  hearing,  and 
their  approval  of  the  proposition  that  he  should  address 
them  on  the  subject  was  turned  into  applause  when  he 
said: 

"  Mr.  Chairman,  nothing  would  give  me  greater  plea 
sure  than  to  comply  with  this  desire  on  the  part  of  my 
brethren  if  I  knew  exactly  the  points  upon  which  they 
desired  information.  If  they  will  kindly  ask  such  ques 
tions  as  they  desire,  I  will  endeavor  to  answer  them  as 
fully  as  I  can." 

He  stood  a  moment  waiting. 

"  Well,  then,"  said  the  venerable  man  who  had  prof 
fered  the  request,  "  to  begin  with,  why  do  you  call  your 
selves  Christian  Socialists?" 

.  "We  call  ourselves  Socialists  because  we  desire  to  im 
prove  social  conditions,  and  Christian  Socialists  because 
we  believe  that  Christ's  doctrine  shows  the  way  by  which 
the  betterment  of  social  conditions  may  be  achieved." 

"  Yet  you  do  not  believe — I  mean  the  League  does  not 
believe — that  faith  in  Christ  is  necessary  to  this  result?" 

"I  understand;  I  speak  for  the  League  now.  No;  we 
do  not  regard  what  is  termed  a  '  saving  faith '  as  essential 


75  FAITH  HOSTILE    TO   HUMANITY?          459 

to  human  improvement  or  to  the  practice  of  Christian  phi 
losophy — the  application  of  Christian  principles  to  social 
conditions." 

"  Do  you  think  it  proper  that  God's  work  should  be 
intrusted  to  the  hands  of  unbelievers?  "•  asked  one  of  the 
members  solemnly. 

"  God  has  never  hesitated  to  use  such  instrumentali 
ties,"  was  the  reply. 

"  But  he  has  never  authorized  them  to  assume  the  name 
of  his  Son  and  in  that  name  to  proclaim  healing  to  the 
nations." 

"  Men  are  prohibited  from  doing  evil  in  his  name,  but 
invited  to  do  good  whether  they  follow  with  his  disciples 
or  not." 

"  But  is  there  any  merit  in  good  works  without  faith?  " 

"  We  do  not  ask  any  merit.  We  do  not  claim  that  the 
League  is  an  instrument  of  salvation.  We  leave  that  to 
the  Church.  The  Church  enjoins  duty  to  our  fellows  be 
cause  the  Master  commanded  it ;  the  League  would  apply 
his  teachings  to  all  phases  of  individual  and  collective 
life,  because  they  are  the  soundest  policy  and  the  highest 
social  truth.  These  are  not  'Christian  duties'  in  the 
sense  of  being  restricted  to  and  incumbent  on  Christians 
only.  It  is  as  much  the  duty  of  the  unbeliever  to  be  just 
and  helpful  to  his  fellows  as  of  the  Christian.  The  Christ- 
theory  of  human  relation  is  not  a  principle  of  Christian  con 
duct  merely:  it  is  universal,  because  it  is  based  on  human 
nature.  If  men  do  unto  others  as  they  would  that  men 
should  do  to  them,  they  cannot  fail  to  make  the  burden 
of  society  light." 

"  But  can  that  rule  be  completely  fulfilled  except  by 
the  aid  of  the  Holy  Spirit?" 

"  It  rarely  is — with  or  without  that  aid — but  I  think 


460  MURVALE    EAST  MAX. 

God  is  always  on  the  side  of  the  right,  no  matter  who  is 
trying  to  do  what  the  Masters  law  requires  of  all.  The 
League  is  not  intended  to  test  individual  motive  or  merit, 
or  promote  personal  salvation,  but  to  improve  social  con 
ditions  and  encourage  good  impulses.'' 

"  You  think  Christianity  is  of  a  duplex  nature,  then — a 
part  of  it  intended  to  promote  salvation  and  a  part  in 
tended  to  secure  better  conditions?" 

"  In  a  sense,  no  doubt;  at  least  the  League  of  Christian 
Socialists  proceeds  upon  the  fundamental  idea  that  the 
Christ-theory  of  human  betterment  would  have  been  just 
as  true  if  another  had  formulated  it,  and  was  just  as  true 
before  he  uttered  it ;  that  it  is  a  universal  law  of  human 
life,  the  highest  policy,  the  wisest  selfishness;  that  the 
more  generally  it  is  applied  by  any  people,  the  worthier, 
happier,  more  peaceful,  and  more  prosperous  they  will  be ; 
and  that  this  is  true  utterly  irrespective  of  any  theory 
of  redemption  or  individual  salvation.  What  we  desire  is 
to  increase  the  area  of  application  of  this  principle  by 
avoiding  all  questions  of  a  purely  religious  character  and 
furnishing  a  common  ground  on  which  saint  and  sinner, 
members  of  all  sects  and  no  sect,  believers  in  all  creeds 
and  no  creed,  may  work  together  for  the  application  of  the 
Christ-philosophy  of  human  life  to  every  phase  of  social 
relations." 

"  Do  you  expect  to  eradicate  evil  without  purifying  the 
source  of  evil,  human  motive?  Can  you  have  any  Chris 
tian  life  without  regeneration?" 

"  Do  you  expect  to  eradicate  sin,  my  brother?"  re 
sponded  Eastman.  "  Personally,  I  believe  that  the  prac 
tice  of  Christian  philosophy  tends  to  a  belief  in  Christian 
doctrines,  but  whether  it  does  or  not,  it  inclines  to  a  bet 
ter  life  and  makes  man  worthier  of  the  salvation  the 


y.S'   FAITH   HOSTILE    TO   HUMAXITYf          461 

Church  offers.  We  no  more  expect  to  eradicate  evil  than 
the  Church  expects  to  eradicate  sin ;  we  only  hope  to 
lessen  its  extent  and  mitigate  its  effects." 

"  But  you  do  not  believe  in  charity,  I  am  told.1' 
"We  leave  almsgiving,  the  relief  of  actual  suffering,^ 
mainly  to  the  State  and  the  Church.  That  has  been  the 
peculiar  field  of  activity  on  the  part  of  the  Church  so  far 
as  human  conditions  are  concerned,  and  as  regards  human 
suffering,  hunger,  thirst,  lack  of  shelter  and  raiment,  she 
may  be  said  to  have  pretty  nearly  Christianized  society, 
which  does  not,  as  a  rule,  allow  the  poor  to  starve,  the  in 
firm  to  suffer,  or  the  sick  to  die  unattended.  Our  Chris 
tian  civilization  has  provided  for  the  mitigation  of  such 
evils.  So,  too,  it  punishes  crime  and  has  done  much  to 
prevent  contagion.  But  impoverishment,  which  is  the 
chief  source  of  crime,  degradation,  despair,  hopelessness 
— it  is  still  permitted,  nay,  it  is  even  generally  deemed 
commendable,  to  promote.  The  Church  has  no  reproach 
for  him  who  uses  power  to  create  poverty  or  compels  the 
weak  to  submit  to  extortion.  Society  denounces  the 
gambler,  but  worships  the  man  who  successfully  '  bulls ' 
or  '  bears '  a  stock,  puts  up  the  price  of  breadstuff's  by  a 
corner,  or  makes  a  fortune  by  limiting  the  supply  of  coal 
or  raising  the  price  of  petroleum." 

"And  do  you  expect  to  prevent  such  things?  " 
"  We  mean  to  do  whatever  may  be  in  our  power  to 
lessen  such  evils;  to  prevent  impoverishment  when  we 
can ;  to  help  keep  the  self -employer  from  sinking  into  the 
ranks  of  the  dependent,  the  owner  of  the  home  from  be 
coming  homeless,  the  hopeful  from  becoming  hopeless, 
the  clean  from  becoming  foul." 

"And  how  do  you  expect  to  do  this?  " 

"  Not  in  any  one  particular  way,  but  by  all  means  that 


462  MURVALE  EAST  MAX. 

can  be  devised;  personal  assistance,  co-operative  action, 
public  opinion,  statutory  restraint ;  by  instruction,  persua 
sion,  example.  Indeed,  the  study  of  methods  is  one  of 
the  most  important  of  the  aims  and  functions  of  the 
League." 

"As  you  dispense  with  sect  and  creed  in  Christianity, 
so  I  suppose  you  will  do  without  party  in  the  State?  " 

"  As  we  leave  future  salvation  to  the  Church,  so  we 
leave  government  to  the  State,"  said  Murvale,  smiling. 
"  We  propose  to  discuss  the  betterment  of  general  condi 
tions  and  the  means  by  which  it  may  be  promoted,  leaving 
to  individuals  and  parties  the  application  of  these  princi 
ples." 

"  Will  Brother  Eastman  give  us  some  illustrations  of 
what  the  League  may  have  attempted  in  these  direc 
tions?"  asked  the  moderator. 

"  Certainly.  The  managers  of  a  corporation  adopted  a 
rule  that  none  of  its  employes  should  wear  a  beard.  One 
of  the  employes,  a  man  who  had  made  his  country  his 
debtor  for  good  deeds  bravely  done,  sickened  and  died 
because  of  this  tyrannical  order.  The  League  circulated 
a  million  leaflets  asking  Christian  men  and  women  not  to 
patronize  a  road  guilty  of  such  pagan  cruelty,  and  to  co 
operate  in  securing  a  law  restricting  the  powers  of  cor 
porate  employers. 

"Another  corporation  required  its  employes  to  buy  a 
uniform  from  a  certain  manufacturing  establishment  at  a 
higher  rate  than  would  be  charged  them  at  retail  by  an 
ordinary  tailor.  We  called  attention  to  this  as  a  case  of 
robbery  just  as  unjustifiable  as  that  practiced  by  Captain 
Kydd  on  the  high  seas!  " 

"  But  the  employe  knows  the  rules  when  he  applies 
for  the  place,"  said  a  man  in  one  of  the  pews. 


IS  FAITH  HOSTILE    TO   HUMANITY?          463 

"The  fact  that  a  man  is  obliged  to  submit  to  unjust 
conditions  in  order  to  obtain  employment  does  not  affect 
the  question  of  right  or  wrong." 

"  Did  not  your  league  inaugurate  a  boycott  of  certain 
deserving  tradesmen?"  asked  one. 

"  We  found  the  newsdealers  of  the  city  selling  the  most 
degraded  and  pernicious  literature  to  the  boys  and  girls, 
the  young  men  and  women  of  our  homes.  It  is  the  uni 
versal  opinion  of  all  students  of  criminal  statistics  that 
this  is  the  most  fecund  of  all  the  causes  of  crime,  except 
ing  only  poverty  and  drunkenness.  We  had  a  list  made 
of  all  who  kept  such  literature  and  of  those  who  promised 
not  to  keep  it.  This  we  sent  to  one  hundred  thousand 
church  members  asking  them  the  plain  question  whether 
they  ought  to  help  pay  for  circulating  such  moral  poison?  " 

"  Why  could  not  the  Church  do  these  things?  " 

"  We  are  not  antagonizing  the  Church,  only  doing  what 
our  hands  find  to  do.  The  Church  did  not  do  these 
things  which  we  have  felt  called  upon  to  undertake.  Many 
of  those  men  whose  acts  we  have  been  compelled  to 
denounce  are  members  of  the  Church,  which  has  thus 
far  failed  to  discountenance  or  forbid  them." 

"  You  find  no  difficulty  on  account  of  religious  belief?  " 

"  Believers  and  unbelievers  work  together  in  harmony." 

"And  your  numbers  are  increasing?" 

"  Wonderfully.  It  seems  as  if  people  were  waiting  for 
it,  expecting  it,  already  feeling  the  need  of  it.  Leagues 
are  being  organized  in  many  other  cities.  To  my  mind, 
it  promises  a  force  divinely  ordained  to  supplement  the 
Church  in  the  work  of  redemption." 

"  You  have  been  having  a  very  marked  work  of  grace 
in  your  church,  I  think?"  inquired  the  moderator. 

"  Very;  unprecedented  in  its  history." 


464  MURVALE   EASTMA.Y. 

"  What  is  the  effect  of  your  league  upon  this  spiritual 
work?1' 

"  They  began  about  the  same  time  and  have  continued 
together  to  grow  in  interest  ever  since." 

"  But  in  cause  and  effect,  I  mean/' 

"I  do  not  know,"  said  Murvale  solemnly,  "but  I  be 
lieve  that  whatever  promotes  the  love  of  man  is  sure  to 
awaken,  sooner  or  later,  the  love  of  God." 

There  was  a  low  murmur  of  approval.  The  chairman 
raised  his  hand  as  if  satisfied,  and  the  Ministers'  As 
sociation  had  taken  a  step  toward  the  solution  of  the 
problem  of  to-day's  civilization. 


CHAPTER    XLII. 

THE    ULTIMATUM. 

FOR  a  while  Wilton  Kishu  faced  impending  peril  with 
out  flinching.  It  was  not  the  first  time  he  had  been 
threatened  with  disaster.  His  nerve  was  notable  among 
the  business  men  of  the  city,  as  well  as  his  fertility  of  re 
source.  All  who  knew  him  laughed  at  the  idea  of  his 
being  vanquished  by  such  an  adversary. 

Yet  Kishu  did  not  underestimate  the  danger ;  neither  did 
his  counsel.  His  lawyer  told  him  that  the  claimant's  title 
\vas  unimpeachable.  The  warranty  he  had  given  could 
not  be  evaded.  Valentine's  heirs  were  entitled  to  the 
land  with  all  improvements.  Kishu  was  liable  to  the  par 
ties  for  the  difference  between  the  present  value  and  the 
price  paid  so  long  ago.  Juries  were  not  likely  to  favor 
false  warranty:  he  made  an  estimate  of  the  amount:  to 


THE    ULTIMATUM.  465 

pay  it  would  sweep  away  the  accumulations  of  a  life-time ; 
not  to  pay  it  meant  humiliation,  disgrace. 

His  counsel  advised  him  to  take  what  money  and  valu 
ables  he  could  lay  hands  on,  and  go  away  to  some  foreign 
country — Mexico,  Peru,  anywhere  ;  possibly  he  might  get 
on  his  feet  again.  He  would  not  listen  to  this  plan.  He 
would  fight — fight  and  die,  perhaps — but  he  would  die 
where  he  had  lived ;  he  would  not  run  nor  dodge. 

Then  the  lawyer  proposed  a  compromise. 

"With  whom?" 

"The  claimant,  Underwood." 

Mr.  Kishu  shook  his  head;  the  attorney  persisted. 
Finally  his  client  assented.  The  next  day  the  lawyer 
brought  a  sealed  note  containing,  he  was  told,  the  only 
terms  on  which  adjustment  was  possible.  Wilton  Kishu 
opened  it  nervously.  He  was  a  shade  paler  after  its 
perusal.  He  put  it  back  in  the  envelope  and  laid  it  on 
the  desk  before  him. 

"  It  is  no  use,"  he  said  in  reply  to  the  lawyer's  ques 
tioning  look. 

"  You  think "  asked  the  lawyer,  anxious  to  know 

the  contents  of  the  note. 

"  I  know"  interrupted  his  client,  putting  the  note  in  his 
desk  and  locking  it. 

"  You  think  we  must " 

"Take  the  chances  of  a  flaw,  somewhere,"  said  Kishu 
firmly. 

In  legal  conflict  as  well  as  on  the  battle-field,  it  is  the 
time  between  the  development  of  the  hostile  force  and 
the  moment  when  the  battle  is  joined  that  is  most  trying 
to  the  combatants.  After  the  fight  is  once  fully  on,  the 
excitement  of  the  contestants  blinds  them  to  the  fear  of 
consequences  until  the  end  comes.  This  period  of  in- 
30 


466  M  UK  VALE    KASTMAX. 

action  and  suspense  told  very  hard  upon  Mr.  Kishu.  Hour 
after  hour  and  day  after  day  he  sat  moody  and  sileat  at 
his  desk.  He  listened  with  indifference  to  the  re-ports  of 
his  subordinates;  asked  few  questions;  gave  little  heed 
to  business  propositions  that  were  broached  by  his  callers, 
whom,  indeed,  he  began  to  shun  rather  than  desire. 

For  a  time  he  did  not  lose  hope,  going  doggedly  over 
the  whole  ground  seeking  some  way  of  escape.  He  had 
great  confidence  in  his  power  of  continued  application  to 
one  particular  subject.  In  this  he  had  learned  that  he 
greatly  excelled  most  men.  Others  talked  about  his  luck. 
He  believed  in  his  brain.  His  mind  was  not  brilliant. 
He  did  not  think  as  fast  as  many  others,  but  he  could 
think  longer  on  one  subject  than  most  men,  and  so  had 
often  found  a  way  out  of  difficulty  where  others  failed. 
It  was  to  this  faculty  he  appealed,  in  his  present  extremity. 
Over  and  over  again  he  followed  the  same  hopeless  track, 
from  issue  joined  until  judgment  rendered,  seeking  some 
loop-hole  of  escape.  His  brain  seemed  sluggish  and  in 
active.  Everything  became  overshadowed  by  the  one 
thought  he  so  relentlessly  pursued.  For  the  first  time  in 
his  life  he  walked  with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground. 
The  pavement,  walls,  the  cover  of  his  desk,  the  blue  sky 
when  he  looked  upward — all  were  covered  with  his  plans 
for  relief — the  vain  schemes  he  worked  out  day  by  day, 
only  to  see  them  crumble  into  dust  at  night.  He  often 
failed  to  return  the  greetings  of  his  friends ;  sometimes 
was  unable  immediately  to  recognize  them  when  aroused 
from  his  reverie.  These  things  became  so  evident  that 
many  noted  it,  and  some  shrewd  observers  ventured  the 
suggestion  that  he  was  "losing  his  grip." 

At  home  he  passed  his  time  in  the  library.  It  pleased 
him  to  have  his  daughter  sit  with  him,  but  his  wife's 


THE    ULTIMATUM.  467 

presence  annoyed  him.  She  was  solemn  and  tearful.  He 
thought  she  was  mourning  over  the  prospective  loss  of 
fortune.  She  wept  only  for  his  sake  and  because  she 
could  not  comfort  him.  The  great  sorrow  of  her  life  had 
been  a  belief  that  he  failed  to  appreciate  her.  She  had 
mourned  over  it  for  years ;  yet  she  adored  her  husband 
and  wept  merely  out  of  pity  for  herself,  not  from  any  de 
sire  to  reproach  him.  Tears  are  sometimes  unattractive, 
and  the  copious  flow  had  long  since  loosened  the  tie  of 
confidence  between  husband  and  wife.  There  was  no 
quarrel  or  bickering.  She  bewailed  the  thought  that  he 
looked  upon  her  with  indifference ;  he  regarded  her  with 
contemptuous  pity  because  she  was  not  content.  She 
was  forever  dreaming  of  something  she  might  do  to  com 
mand  his  admiration ;  he  forever  wondering  what  new 
blunder  she  would  make.  So  the  tactful  man  and  tactless 
woman  lived  at  cross  purposes;  the  tie  between  them, 
the  daughter  who  understood  them  both  better  than  either 
did  the  other,  and  yet  was  powerless  to  bring  them  closer 
together. 

He  did  not  talk  of  his  affairs.  He  had  never  been  ac 
customed  to  confidants,  except  Lampson,  indeed,  and 
Lampson  had  gone.  He  had  not  thought  the  secretary 
would  dare  accept  his  challenge  to  leave  his  service,  but 
he  had  not  been  able  to  obtain  any  trace  of  the  man 
since  he  had  gone  from  the  office — except  that  he  had 
left  the  city  after  visiting  Metziger's  office.  His  purpose 
in  suggesting  Lampson's  going  had  been  chiefly  to  avoid 
discreditable  rumors,  based  on  the  one  unlawful  act  of  his 
life — the  appropriation,  even  for  a  brief  period,  of  an 
other's  property.  Now  his  anxiety  about  that  seemed  to 
him  absurd  and  trivial.  It  was  not  poverty  or  want,  but 
nothingness  that  stared  him  in  the  face.  What  did  he 


46S  ML'RVALK   KASTMAX. 

care  for  mere  sentimental  disapproval  when  the  accumu 
lations  of  a  life-time  were  at  stake!  What  would  there  be 
for  him  to  live  for,  if  he  lost  in  this  contest?  He  did  not 
blame  the  claimant.  He  had  a  right  to  take  what  was 
his  own.  He  did  not  wonder  at  the  harsh  terms  offered 
in  reply  to  his  overture  for  compromise,  either.  What 
were  the  terms?  He  carried  the  note  about  in  his  pocket 
and  read  it  over  a  dozen  times  a  day : 

"  If  the  child  from  whom  you  took  the  trinket  contain 
ing  an  opal,  which  on  the  next  day  you  hypothecated  for 
a  loan  of  $2,000,  is  produced  or  accounted  for,  and  it  ap 
pears  she  has  been  kindly  treated  and  well  reared,  the 
suits  already  begun  and  all  other  claims  arising  from  de 
fect  of  title  in  the  lands  of  Daniel  Ximenes  Valentine's 
heirs  may  be  adjusted  by  paying  the  present  value  of  the 
lands  without  improvements.  No  other  terms  will  be  con 
sidered.  JONAS  UNDERWOOD.1' 

It  was  written  in  a  stiff,  hard  hand.  The  man  who 
wrote  it  meant  exactly  what  he  said.  There  was  no  hope 
of  mercy  from  him.  Underwood!  He  remembered  the 
name  as  soon  as  he  saw  the  handwriting.  He  had  not 
dreamed  that  this  was  the  man  he  had  wronged.  It  was 
strange  he  had  not,  for  the  name  had  haunted  him  for 
years.  He  had  learned  all  about  him  at  that  time.  The 
man  had  come  from  the  West  just  before  the  war,  bring 
ing  with  him  some  sort  of  an  invention.  What  was  it? 
He  remembered  having  looked  it  over  once  to  see  if  there 
was  money  in  it.  It  was  not  perfected  then.  Ah,  he  re 
membered — a  knitter.  The  inventor  had  kept  at  work 
upon  it  with  a  pertinacity  that  commanded  his  respect. 
After  a  year  or  two  Underwood  completed  it  and  began 


THE    I'l.TIMATUM.  469 

to  make  money — not  very  much,  but  there  was  promise  of 
more — when  the  war  came  on,  and  after  a  few  months  of 
restlessness,  he  sold  out  his  interest  and  entered  the  army. 
The  woman  was  a  widow  when  the  child  disappeared,  or 
reported  so,  at  least.  But  there  were  many  husbands  who 
disappeared  in  those  days,  to  come  back,  broken  and 
shattered,  to  homes  that  were  as  barren  of  joy  as  their 
lives  were  of  hope. 

So  it  was  this  man's  child  that  was  lost?  How  strangely 
things  come  about  in  this  world!  He  had  taken  this 
man's  property  as  the  foundation  of  his  fortune,  and  al 
lowed  his  child  to  be  lost  in  the  trackless  ocean  of  human 
ity,  and  now  the  man  took  him  by  the  throat  and  said, 
"Your  money  or  my  child!  "  He  had  never  harmed  the 
child.  Indeed,  he  had  saved  its  life  at  the  risk  of  his 
own.  Yet  Wilton  Kishu  admitted  that  this  demand  was 
not  unjust.  He  had  not  intended  to  do  wrong;  he  had 
not  violated  the  law  so  far  as  the  child  was  concerned,  but 
he  had  not  done  right.  If  he  had  not  weakly  yielded  to 
his  wife's  silly  notion,  he  might  have  restored  the  child 
and  avoided  peril  if  not  reproach.  He  acknowledged  this, 
and  wondered  dimly  if  fate  required  of  all  men  that  they 
should  always  deal  righteously  with  their  fellows  and 
rigorously  exacted  a  penalty,  even  in  this  world,  for  in 
fractions  of  this  law.  He  could  not  refrain  from  smiling 
as  the  thought  crossed  his  mind.  Of  course,  it  could  not 
be  so.  Neither  society  nor  religion  required  men  to  do 
right  always.  Such  a  rule  might  do  for  angels,  but  could 
not  be  applied  to  men.  Society  and  religion  merely  de 
manded  that  men  should  obey  the  law.  That  was  hard 
enough,  but  no  one  was  responsible  for  the  results  of 
what  he  had  a  right  to  do — what  the  law  permitted  him 
to  do. 


470  MURVALE  EASTMAX. 

He  had  violated  the  law,  in  one  single  instance,  and 
from  that  had  come  all  his  trouble.  This  was  the  view 
which  he  took  of  his  life,  regarding  it  from  a  moral  stand 
point — his  notion  of  the  relation  deity  sustains  to  human 
conduct.  An  avenging  destiny  pursued  him  because  he 
had  disobeyed  the  command  which  makes  possession 
sacred — had  taken  that  which  was  another's ;  was  for  the 
time  a  thief,  in  short.  He  did  n  t  count  the  bereaved 
parent's  years  of  agony  as  a  meritorious  appeal  to  Divine 
Justice.  Why  should  he?  He  had  been  taught  that 
suffering  was  of  divine  ordainment,  why  not  this  as  well 
as  any  other?  He  did  not  imagine  that  the  young  soul 
which  he  had  sent  into  temptation  and  degradation  was 
forever  crying  out  against  him.  The  lost  soul  did  not 
haunt  his  dreams,  but  the  evil  which  the  law  expressly 
condemned — the  sin  which  men  dignify  by  the  name  of 
crime — this  troubled  his  conscience;  this  made  him  ac 
knowledge  that  his  punishment  was  just.  Such  was  his 
notion  of  divine  justice  and  human  rectitude. 

A  curious  notion,  do  you  say?  Perhaps.  Conscience 
is  a  curious  thing  at  best.  yVe  speak  of  it  sometimes  as 
if  it  were  divine.  We  call  it  an  "  inward  monitor,"  the 
"judge  of  right  and  wrong  which  each  man  carries  in  his 
heart."  One  would  think  it  an  infinite  right  line,  drawn 
through  the  domain  of  consciousness  by  the  almighty 
Hand,  by  which  all  human  thought  might  be  tried  and 
its  truth  or  error  detected.  The  truth  is  that  conscience 
is  only  a  mirror  which  reflects  some  ideal  of  duty.  The 
ideal  may  be  just  or  distorted;  no  matter,  conscience  re 
flects  it  as  it  is.  Half  the  evil  of  the  world  springs  from 
conscientious  belief  that  the  acts  from  which  it  results  are 
right.  The  feudal  lord  believed  in  his  right  to  rule ;  the 
master  believed  in  his  right  to  enslave;  the  pagan  be- 


THE    ULTIMATUM.  471 

lieves  in  human  sacrifice  ;  the  Indian  widow  counts  Suttee 
a  sacred  duty;  the  Christian  landlord  believes  in  his  right 
to  possess  just  as  much  of  the  earth's  surface  as  the  law 
will  permit  him  to  acquire;  the  Christian  capitalist  be 
lieves  in  competition,  accumulation,  and  transmission,  just 
as  devoutly  as  in  the  Trinity  he  worships.  Whatever  re 
sults  from  what  each  man  believes  to  be  right,  that  also 
he  esteems  right.  Conscience  merely  reflects  that  ideal 
of  duty  which  environment  plants  in  each  nature,  and 
each  man  esteems  as  permissible  that  which  the  general 
sentiment  does  not  condemn.  Now  and  then,*some  spe 
cial  exposure  of  an  individual  life  creates  a  specially  sen 
sitive  conscience.  We  call  this  sometimes  "  oversensi- 
tiveness,"  sometimes  "  morbidness."  If  the  ideal  becomes 
general,  we  look  upon  its  early  exponents  as  heroes  or 
martyrs;  if  it  does  not,  we  laugh  at  them  as  fools  and 
cranks.  Conscience  is  not  an  infallible  guide.  It  may 
impel  to  wrong-doing  as  well  as  to  righteousness.  So  far 
as  man's  relations  to  man  are  concerned,  there  is  but 
one  rule  of  right:  "Do  unto  others  as  you  would  have 
them  do  to  you."  Conscience  is  a  safe  guide  only  when 
it  cries,  "  Put  yourself  in  his  place." 

Wilton  Kishu  was  conscientious;  but  his  conscience 
simply  reflected  the  ideal  of  to-day's  civilization,  of  to 
day's  Christianity.  It  is  not  worse  than  yesterday's;  it  is 
in  most  respects  distinctly  better.  The  trouble  consists 
in  looking  to  Yesterday  for  a  standard.  There  has  been 
no  perfect  civilization ;  there  has  been  no  perfect  Chris 
tianity.  The  past  is  only  a  series  of  attempts  at  im 
provement  and  equally  continuous  struggles  to  prevent 
it.  Conscience  has  always  been  on  both  sides.  Civili 
zation  is  not  necessarily  progress.  Christianity  is  not 
necessarily  righteousness.  Civilization,  when  it  is  mere 


472 


M i'R  VA L E   EA S TMA X. 


enlightened  selfishness,  is  better  than  barbarism  only  in  its 
methods.  It  seems  worse,  no  doubt,  to  kill  with  a  club 
than  with  an  obstructed  sewer,  or  by  the  restriction  of 
opportunity;  but  it  is  the  same  thing  to  the  man  who 
dies.  So,  too,  the  Christian  God  is  a  sweeter  deity  than 
Moloch;  but  when  Christianity  does  not  impel  the  be 
liever  to  recognize  the  rights,  interests,  and  welfare  of 
others  as  the  measure  of  individual  and  collective  duty, 
then,  so  far  as  concerns  those  who  are  wronged  and  weak 
ened  and  debased  in  consequence.  Christianity  is  no 
better  than  the  cult  of  the  Ammonite.  It  was  no  worse 
to  offer  children's  bodies  upon  the  altar  than  to  weaken 
and  debase  and  destroy  child-lives  for  greed.  It  seems 
worse  to  slay  with  the  knife  than  to  kill  by  neglect,  de 
basement,  deprivation  of  opportunity;  but  so  far  as  the 
victims  are  concerned,  it  is  probably  much  the  same. 

Progress  is  the  law  of  human  existence  only  because 
there  are  more  poor  than  rich,  more  weak  than  strong, 
more  who  suffer  by  wrong  than  enjoy  by  injustice.  For 
that  reason  civilization  tends  to  eradicate  the  sovereign 
and  has  already  overthrown  the  idea  of  inherited  right  to 
rule:  it  eliminates  the  lord  and  destroys  inherited  privi 
lege.  From  this  has  come  the  doctrine  of  equal  right  and 
the  evolution  of  the  citizen — the  self-ruler.  Thus  far, 
however,  civilization  has  developed  rather  than  restricted 
the  millionaire — the  man  who  represents  the  restriction 
of  others'  opportunity  for  his  own  advantage;  and  the 
Christian  conscience,  thus  far,  approves  the  accumulation 
from  which  results  the  subjection  of  the  individual. 

Wilton  Kishu's  conscience,  then,  was  troubled  not  be 
cause  of  broken  lives,  but  on  account  of  a  broken  law. 


THE    TWIG  BREAKS.  473 


CHAPTER    XLIII. 

THE    TWIG    BREAKS. 

THE  unexpected  agitation  of  her  father,  resulting  from 
her  whispered  intimation  of  some  knowledge  of  the  most 
unpleasant  episode  of  his  life,  had  confirmed  Lilian's  pre 
vious  conviction  that  the  only  mode  of  extricating  him 
from  disaster  was  to  hasten  her  marriage  with  the  young 
minister,  in  whose  hands  she  believed  lay  the  power  to 
save  or  ruin.  In  both  hypotheses,  as  the  reader  already 
knows,  she  was  only  half  correct.  Her  father's  agitation 
had  resulted  from  the  belief  induced  by  his  apprehension 
that  she  knew  much  more  than  she  did.  While  on  the 
other  hand  the  power  to  continue  or  discontinue  the 
search,  with  its  resulting  effects — which  had  once  been  in 
Eastman's  hands — had  been  taken  from  him  by  the  con 
fession  of  Lampson,  this  confession,  made  to  Mr.  Metziger, 
to  whom  he  had  given  the  money  received  from  his  em 
ployer  to  conduct  a  search  for  the  girl,  whom  he  had 
somehow  come  to  believe  was  still  alive,  established  a  prob 
ability  that  Mr.  Kishu  had  either  concealed  the  child's 
death  or  had  in  some  manner  disposed  of  her  in  order 
that  he  might  enjoy  the  fruits  of  robbery  of  the  jewel  from 
her  person;  and  thus  it  had  deprived  the  young  divine  of 
all  control  over  the  forces  that  were  working  together  for 
Wilton  Kishu's  destruction. 

This  knowledge  had  transformed  Jonas  Underwood  into 
.?.  relentlessly  revengeful  force.  He  had  been  willing  to 


474  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

forgive  Wilton  Kishu  for  having  unlawfully  come  into  the 
possession  of  what  was  his,  and  having  retained  it  so  long 
while  he  and  his  wife  suffered  from  the  comforts  it  would 
have  bought;  but  when  he  thought  that  this  man  might 
have  relieved  the  mother's  anxiety  by  telling  what  he 
knew,  of  the  long  days  of  pitiful  woe  and  the  nights  of 
tearful  agony  which  the  brave,  gray-haired  wife  had  en 
dured — when  he  thought  of  these  things,  the  fires  of  hell 
blazed  in  Jonas  Underwood's  eyes,  and  the  rage  of  unspar 
ing  revenge  filled  his  heart.  Consideration  for  Murvale 
Eastman  and  Lilian  had  entirely  disappeared  from  his 
thought  in  the  white  heat  of  his  resentment.  He  would 
crush,  destroy,  degrade,  punish — kill  if  he  could — the 
man  whose  selfishness  and  greed  had  caused  that  loving 
heart  such  anguish.  It  was  all  for  her;  he  did  not  count 
his  own  suffering;  in  fact,  he  was  unconscious  that  he  had 
known  any  suffering,  in  his  consuming  desire  to  avenge 
her  woe  upon  the  brutal,  devilish  wretch  who  had  tortured 
her  for  half  a  life-time  that  he  might  enjoy  the  fruits  of 
unlawful  gain. 

What  did  he  care  for  the  pride,  the  good  name  of  the 
family  of  this  wretch,  whom  he  hated  because  of  his*  cru 
elty  and  despised  because  of  his  baseness!  He  would 
fling  him  down ;  he  would  trample  him  in  the  mire  of  dis 
grace;  he  would  impoverish  and  degrade  him;  he  would 
make  his  wife  taste  the  bitterness  of  poverty;  he  would 
condemn  his  beautiful  daughter  to  hunger  and  want — ay, 
even  to  shame — if  he  could  possibly  compass  such  results. 
To  this  end  he  was  willing  to  sacrifice  all  he  possessed 
and  all  he  hoped  to  secure.  He  was  a  fiend  incarnate  of 
revenge.  But  he  said  to  himself  that  it  was  right  that  he 
should  do  these  things,  because  this  man  who  stood  so 
high  in  the  world's  esteem  was  a  brute,  who  cared  noth- 


THE    TWIG  BREAKS.  475 

ing  for  the  woe  of  others  so  long  as  his  own  desire  might 
be  gratified.  It  was  a  terrible  picture,  and  Mr.  Kishu 
would  have  been  amazed  at  the  hellish  lineaments  assigned 
to  him  by  the  fevered  fancy  of  this  husband  and  father, 
whose  sufferings  he  had  never  accounted  any  serious  mat 
ter.  People  who  think  they  have  been  wronged  are  apt 
to.be  unreasonable,  and  people  who  have  never  tried  to 
put  themselves  in  the  place  of  those  who  suffer  are  apt  to 
think  them  extravagant  in  their  views. 

Still  more  would  Lilian  have  been  amazed  if  she  had 
known  that  it  was  this  firebrand  of  fate  that  controlled 
the  destiny  of  Wilton  Kishu,  rather  than  Murvale  East 
man,  whose  love  she  believed  would  disarm  resentment 
and  perhaps  even  blunt  his  sense  of  duty. 

While  she  did  not  regard  the  prospect  of  marriage  with 
Murvale  with  entire  satisfaction,  the  notion  that  she  was 
doing  it  to  save  her  parents  from  humiliation  gave  it  a 
heroic  aspect  altogether  pleasing.  From  that  moment 
she  had  looked  forward  to  the  accomplishment  of  this 
design  with  a  fixed  and  earnest  purpose  quite  at  variance 
with  her  previous  indecision.  Indeed,  she  had  received 
the  news  that  Frank  Marsh  had  declined  the  tempting 
offer  made  to  him  by  her  father,  not  only  with  composure, 
but  with  actual  satisfaction.  It  was  not  best  that  she 
should  meet  him  too  frequently  after  his  passionate 
avowal.  She  did  not  want  him  to  go  away,  and  was  glad 
he  had  taken  a  better  position  on  the  Breeze  instead  of 
going  to  San  Francisco  as  it  had  been  announced  that  he 
would,  but  she  did  not  care  to  see  him  too  often — just 
now,  at  least. 

She  had  not  been  in  any  haste  to  reply  to  Murvale's 
letter,  both  because  of  her  own  indecision  and  because 
she  had  been  somewhat  startled  by  the  turn  affairs  had 


476  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

taken.  When  she  saw  the  storm  gathering  Over  her 
father's  head,  and  felt  that  she  could  no  longer  delay  ac 
tion,  she  took  her  initial  step  with  a  skill  that  proved  her 
a  worthy  daughter  of  the  great  negotiator.  Ignoring  the 
weeks  that  had  elapsed  and  the  fact  that  her  last  letter 
to  him  had  been  one  of  peremptory  dismissal,  she  wrote: 

"  DEAR  MURVALE: — Your  letter  disturbed  me  so  that  I 
could  not  answer  at  once.  It  is  shocking  to  think  that 
the  ring  you  placed  on  my  finger  should  prove  to  be  the 
only  memento  of  the  loss  which  our  friends,  the  Under 
woods,  sustained  so  many  years  ago.  Poor  child!  One 
can  only  hope  and  pray  that  she  fell  into  kind  hands  and 
has  been  tenderly  cared  for.  If  I  could  see  you  I  think 
I  could  help  you  in  this  search.  Of  course  you  must 
know  that  there  is  nothing  in  the  matter  that  could  be 
discreditable  to  my  father.  LILIAN." 

In  reply  to  this  she  received  the  following.  The  man's 
straightforward  nature  had  failed  to  note  the  artfulness  of 
her  reply.  He  was  engrossed  with  the  thought  that  peril 
impended  over  her: 

"  DEAR  LILIAN: — I  am  afraid  that  there  is  some  terrible 
mystery  connected  with  the  disappearance  of  Mr.  Under 
wood's  child.  I  cannot  think  that  your  father  knew  of 
her  death  and  has  remained  silent  these  many  years.  Yet 
such  is  the  testimony  of  the  last  one  who  saw  the  child 
alive,  and  only  the  next  day,  your  father  pledged  the  opal 
for  a  loan.  Why  did  he  not  reveal  what  he  knew?  Why 
does  he  not  do  it  even  now?  Q  Lilian,  my  heart  bleeds 
for  you  and  for  him.  May  the  grace  of  the  Most  Holy 
direct  you  both.  MURVALE  EASTMAN." 


7Y/A     TWIG   BRKAKS.  477 

Lilian  took  occasion  during  the  day  after  this  was  re 
ceived  to  show  her  father  these  two  letters.  He  glanced 
over  them  moodily  and  handed  them  back. 

"  Why  don't  you  do  as  he  suggests?  "  she  asked. 

Wilton  Kishu  shook  his  head. 

"  You  must  do  something.'' 

"  What  can  I  do — accuse  your  mother?  " 

"You  did  not  kill  the  child  I" 

"No;  my  wife  stole  it — kidnapped,  the  law  calls  it,"  he 
answered  bitterly. 

"  But  you  did  not  know  it  was  lost — whose  it  was,  I 
mean?  " 

"  Not  until  afterward — then  I  did — everybody  knew. 
The  papers  were  full  of  it." 

"  But  why  did  you  not  give  information?  " 

"  I  don't  know— I  didn't." 

"  Why  do  you  not  now  disclose  what  you  know?  " 

"  There  is  no  use." 

"  She  might  be  found." 

"  Better  not." 

Lilian  took  out  her  mothers  letter  and  held  it  toward 
him. 

"Yes,  I  know;  I  followed  that  up;  spent  three  months 
at  it.  Couldn't  find  a  trace." 

"  You  think  she  is  dead  then?  " 

"  Or  worse." 

Lilian  shuddered. 

"  Dear  papa,"  she  said,  kneeling  at  his  feet,  "  is  there 
no  way — nothing  that  can  be  done?  " 

He  put  Underwood's  note  into  her  hand. 

"  You  see,"  he  said — "  the  girl  or  your  money — that  is 
all." 

"  And  would  it  take  so  very  much?  " 


478  M UK  VALE  EASTMAN. 

Her  father  smiled  grimly. 

"  All  we  have  got." 

"  And  is  there  no — no  other  way?  " 

"  I — I  haven't  found  any — yet,"  he  answered  with  sig 
nificant  emphasis. 

"  Never  mind,''  she  said,  kissing  his  forehead  as  sire 
forced  herself  into  his  arms.  "  Your  little  girl  will  find  a 
way." 

"  The  minister— you  think?  " 

She  smiled  archly. 

"  It  has  gone  beyond  him,"  gloomily. 

"  Oh,  you  will  see!  "  she  responded  gayly. 

"  Too  late,"  he  answered.  "  Lampson  has  got  the 
start  of  me." 

"  You  just  wait,"  shaking  her  finger  at  him  mischiev 
ously. 

"  That  is  all  there  is  to  do,"  was  the  hopeless  reply. 

"  Don't  be  discouraged :  wait  until  I  have  tried.  I  ex 
pect  to  see  you  in  your  old  place  in  the  Golden  Lilies  y.et." 

He  shook  his  head  dejectedly. 

"  Do  you  want  to  know  what  I  am  going  to  do?  Well, 
I  am  going  to  ask  Mr.  Eastman  to  dine  with  us  to-morrow 
night." 

"  He  will  not  come." 

"  But  if  he  does  and — and  asks  you  for  your  daughter 
afterward — you  will  not  refuse  him?" 

"  I  suppose  not — but — he  will  not  come." 

"  Wait  and  see.  I  am  going  to  write  a  note  to  him  this 
very  minute." 

She  kissed  her  father  again,  sat  down  at  the  desk  and 
penned  the  invitation.  The  next  morning  before  her 
father  started  to  his  office,  he  asked  her  if  she  had  re 
ceived  a  reply. 


THE   PROTEST   OF  DESPAIR.  479 

"  He  says  he  has  an  imperative  engagement,"  Lilian 
answered,  tears  forcing  their  way  between  the  lids. 

"Yes;  the  Christian  Socialists  meet  to-night,"  her 
father  said  bitterly.  "  It's  no  use!  " 

He  turned  back  from  the  door  and  kissed  her  with  un 
usual  earnestness  as  she  stood  upon  the  rug.  She  tried 
to  utter  some  words  of  encouragement,  but  could  not. 

"  Good-by,"  he  said, -looking  wistfully  back  as  he  opened 
the  door  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER    XLIV. 

THE    PROTEST    OF    DESPAIR. 

WILTON  KISHU  looked  back  at  his  home  after  he  had 
entered  his  carriage.  He  had  spoken  cheerfully  to  his 
coachman ;  told  him  he  would  take  a  turn  before  going 
to  the  office  and  asked  him  to  drive  slowly.  The  morning 
was  bright  and  crisp.  The  servant  was  glad  to  see  his 
master  look  so  much  better  than  he  had  of  late.  At  the 
corner  Mr.  Kishu  turned  and  looked  back  at  his  house 
once  more.  Just  as  the  intervening  buildings  hid  it  he 
waved  his  hand  as  if  bidding  farewell. 

Then  he  cast  his  eyes  down  and  began  to  think  over 
the  situation.  He  had  thought  it  over  a  thousand  times 
already.  He  knew  what  the  result  would  be,  and  had  de 
termined  upon  the  course  he  would  take.  He  had  waited 
from  day  to  day,  hoping  that  something  favorable  would 
occur.  Hope  was  now  dispelled.  Murvale  Eastman  had 
repelled  his  daughter's  advances.  He  saw  it  all.  His 
enemies  had  made  common  cause  against  him — Under 
wood,  Eastman,  Lampson :  and  they  had  a  great  host  of 


480  MURVALE   EASTMAX. 

allies.  It  was  useless  to  attempt  to  make  head  against 
them.  He  might  save  enough  to  live  on ;  his  lawyer 
thought  even  at  the  worst  a  considerable  sum  might  be 
left  him.  Not  one  of  his  many  millions,  but  perhaps  a 
hundred  thousand — possibly  more.  At  any  rate  it  was 
not  want  he  feared.  His  wife  and  daughter  had  enough. 
He  had  provided  for  them — not  lavishly,  but  prudently — 
long  ago. 

What  he  did  fear  was  something  far  more  terrible — 
the  loss  of  position,  prestige,  rank  in  the  world  where 
rank  was  measured  by  accumulation.  To  do  him  justice, 
Wilton  Kishu  cared  little  for  money  in  itself.  He  would 
never  have  made  a  miser.  He  did  not  care  for  luxury, 
either;  he  was  not  given  to  indulgence.  What  he  did 
love  beyond  all  other  things,  beyond  himself  even,  was 
the  ulterior  effect  of  his  fortune — the  things  that  flowed 
from  it.  He  delighted  to  think  of  himself  standing  on 
what  lie  had  heaped  up  and  looking  down  on  those  who 
had  failed  or  who  were  still  eagerly  striving  to  equal  or 
surmount  his  success.  He  loved  to  think  of  himself  as 
one  among  the  few  who  had  not  one,  but  many  millions. 
What  would  he  be  without  them?  Who  would  care  for 
Wilton  Kishu  with  a  mere  competence?  He  knew  men 
did  not  value  him  for  himself,  but  for  the  power  he  rep 
resented.  What  would  he  be  without  that  power?  A 
failure!  That  was  the  only  word  to  represent  it.  A  man 
who  had  climbed  up  only  to  be  ignominiously  hurled 
down !  Men  would  laugh  at  him — worse  still,  they  would 
pity  him.  His  friends,  who  had  already  grown  cold, 
would  tell  of  his  eccentricities  and  ridicule  the  idea  that 
he  should  have  thought  of  holding  his  place  on  such  a 
dizzy  pinnacle. 

He  would  not  live  to  meet  the  scorn  of  those  whom  he 


THE   PROTEST   OF   DESPAIR.  481 

had  outdone!  This  was  the  conclusion  at  which  he  ar 
rived.  It  had  been  the  end  of  all  his  reveries  of  late. 

The  coachman,  shivering  despite  the  furs  in  which  he 
was  wrapped,  looked  down  and  asked  his  master's  pleas 
ure — where  he  wished  to  go. 

"  Anywhere :  drive  on !  "  thundered  Wilton  Kishu  in 
reply. 

They  went  on  through  the  bustling  streets;  he  took 
no  heed  of  the  route  or  what  happened  along  it.  Men 
greeted  him  from  the  pavement,  but  he  did  not  heed  their 
salutations.  He  began  to  think  of  what  would  be  done 
and  said  after  he  was  gone.  He  thought  his  wife  and 
daughter  would  go  abroad.  His  daughter  would  marry, 
of  course.  His  grandchildren  would  hardly  hear  his  name, 
though.  No  matter;  he  had  never  cared  to  found  a 
family.  If  he  could  not  be  remembered  as  rich  and  suc 
cessful  to  the  last,  he  preferred  not  to  be  remembered  at 
all.  He  wondered  what  would  become  of  his  office  and 
the  church  he  had  built.  All  at  once  it  flashed  upon  him 
that  the  church  would  become  the  property  of  his  enemy; 
it  would  no  longer  be  spoken  of  as  his.  If  his  name  were 
linked  with  it  at  all,  it  would  be  in  scorn!  And  his  office, 
his  clocks,  his  curios!  The  clocks  should  never  strike 
nor  tick  for  another.  No  man  should  say,  "  I  bought 
this  or  that  at  the  sale — after  Kishu's  failure!  "  No  man 
should  have  any  such  memento  of  him.  He  thought,  how 
he  would  splinter  and  destroy  them !  What  he  could,  he 
would  burn.  He  was  glad  of  one  thing — he  was  strong. 

He  pulled  off  his  heavy  glove,  held  out  his  right  arm, 
clenched  his  fist  and  tried  the  muscles.  The  hand  was 
white  and  soft,  but  the  grip  was  like  a  vise.  The  nails 
sank  into  the  soft  flesh,  and  the  blood  settled  dark  and 
blue  about  the  white  spots  where  the  pressure  was  greatest. 


482  Ml'A'l'AJJ-:   EASTMAN. 

The  muscles  cracked  as  the  unaccustomed  tension  was 
applied  to  them.  There  was  no  doubt  as  to  his  strength. 
He  was  anxious  to  begin  the  work  of  destruction  without 
delay.  He  thought  what  instruments  he  should  require — 
a  hammer  and  a  hatchet — no,  an  ax,  such  as  he  used  to 
swing  when  he  was  a  lumberman  npon  the  mountains  be 
fore  the  raft  brought  him  to  the  city  and  launched  him  on 
the  wild  tide  of  fortune.  He  would  leave  no  dainty  work 
of  spoliation  behind  him!  Men  should  see  that  he  who 
had  builded  could  also  destroy!  He  would  even  destroy 
the  Golden  Lilies  if  he  could!  Why  should  he  not?  It 
was  his.  He  had  made  it,  created  it!  Others  had  given 
money,  he  had  given  soul,  brain,  creative  energy.  It  was 
his.  Others  might  use,  occupy,  but  nobody  else  could 
ever  possess  it!  He  would  think  of  this  farther  when  he 
reached  his  office. 

He  called  to  the  driver  and  directed  him  to  a  well- 
known  hardware  establishment.  When  they  reached  it 
he  went  in  and  bought  an  ax,  a  hammer,  and  a  saw.  The 
tradesman  intimated  that  he  must  intend  them  for  a  pres 
ent  to  some  deserving  laborer.  Mr.  Kishu  neither  ad 
mitted  nor  denied.  The  dealer  called  his  clerk's  atten 
tion  to  the  act  as  indicative  of  the  man's  charitable  char 
acter,  as  he  left  the  store,  carrying  his  purchases  himself 
to  his  carriage,  which  he  insisted  upon  doing.  Pie  saw 
them  looking  at  him  through  the  great  plate-glass  window 
of  the  store,  behind  which  was  displayed  a  marvelous 
variety  of  tools — a  great  circular  saw  in  the  middle  with 
knives,  chisels,  augers,  and  a  multitude  of  other  forms  of 
polished  steel.  The  proprietor  smiled  admiringly  at  his 
rich  customer  over  the  jagged  circle  of  the  great  saw. 
Mr.  Kishu  knew  what  they  were  saying,  and  was  glad.  It 
was  almost  the  only  unsolicited  evidence  of  approval  he 


THE   PROTEST   OF  DESPAIR.  483 

had  met  in  a  long  time.  He  wondered  if  he  should  really 
have  any  use  for  the  instruments  he  had  bought.  Never 
theless  he  took  them  into  his  office  and  stowed  them  away 
on  one  of  the  long  shelves  under  the  book-case.  There 
were  many  curious  things  there:  a  shark's  jaw,  the  blade 
of  a  sword-fish,  some  Indian  war-clubs,  and  a  bunch  of 
scalps — things  too  horrible  to  keep  in  constant  view,  and 
yet  interesting  sometimes,  especially  to  ladies.  He 
smiled  as  he  thought  of  the  queer  addition  he  was  mak 
ing  to  this  horrible  stock. 

He  spoke  pleasantly  to  Thomas,  examined  his  mail 
with  unusual  interest,  sent  for  his  subordinates  and  gave 
full  and  minute  directions  as  to  the  business  of  the  day; 
went  out  to  luncheon  with  a  friend,  and  seemed  so  much 
brighter  than  he  had  been  of  late  that  every  one  remarked 
it.  Mr.  Kishu,  with  all  his  faults,  was  one  of  those  men 
whom  the  world  likes  to  see  prosper,  not  because  he  was 
better  than  other  men,  but  because  he  did  not  trouble 
himself  about  making  others  better.  He  was  not  only 
willing  to  live  and  let  live,  but  he  was  willing  to  let  others 
live  in  almost  any  way  they  chose.  He  did  not  trouble 
himself  to  set  things  right. 

When  he  returned  to  his  office  he  told  the  attendant 
he  might  draw  the  shades  partly  up,  close  the  office,  and 
take  a  holiday.  He  waited  to  see  his  directions  carried 
out,  and  gave  the  man  a  ten-dollar  gold-piece  to  make 
his  holiday  pleasant. 

He  stood  awhile  looking  out  over  the  shades  drawn 
half-way  up,  and  saw  the  gayly-dressed  crowds  go  by, 
chatting  and  laughing  in  the  winter  sunshine.  The  clocks 
chimed  musically.  He  turned  with  a  smile  and  looked 
from  one  to  another.  Every  one  had  a  history — some 
pleasant,  some  sad,  but  all  unique.  There  was  not  such 


484  -w  *A'  / '. -/  /./:  /•:.-/  s  TMA  x. 

another  collection  in  all  the  world,  and  only  one  or  two 
that  approached  it.  In  a  little  while,  those  which  are  now 
confessedly  inferior  would  be  striving  with  each  other  for 
the  prize  of  excellence.  He  hummed  a  pleasant  tune  as 
he  sauntered  back  into  his  private  office. 

He  stopped  for  a  moment  before  the  grate,  his  back 
toward  the  fire,  and  his  hands  clasped  behind  him. 
He  was  thinking  of  the  Golden  Lilies.  It  had  troubled 
him  all  day — the  notion  that  this  church  he  had  loved 
would  remain  a  perpetual  reminder  of  his  rise  and  fall  to 
all  who  beheld  its  exquisite  beauty.  He  was  not  afraid 
to  die.  He  was  no  coward.  He  knew  that  what  he  con 
templated  was  sinful — he  even  counted  it  a  deadly  sin. 
He  expected  to  be  punished  for  it — yes,  punished  eter 
nally.  He  even  recalled  the  lurid  description  of  the  place 
of  torment  given  by  Dr.  Phue  some  weeks  before  in  that 
very  room.  Curiously  enough  he  smiled  at  the  recollec 
tion — not  that  he  doubted;  on  the  contrary,  he  believed. 
But  what  did  he  care  for  the  picture  of  torment?  What 
he  desired  to  do  was  to  eradicate  himself  from  the  earth. 
He  intended  to  risk  the  hereafter — take  such  punishment 
as  might  be  meted  to  him — but  at  all  hazards  he  meant 
to  avoid  earthly  shame,  humiliation,  ridicule.  All  the  time 
there  \vas  running  through  his  mind,  half-unrecognized  by 
his  consciousness,  the  inquiry  whether  he  might  not  some 
how  destroy  or  irretrievably  deface  the  beautiful  structure 
he  had  builded.  He  thought  of  setting  it  on  fire,  but 
could  not  see  how  he  could  effect  an  entrance.  Besides 
that,  he  shrank  from  an  act  of  ordinary  arson.  It  did  not 
seem  in  keeping  with  his  character.  If  he  could  only 
lay  it  in  ruins!  He  had  thought  a  dozen  times  of  gun 
powder — it  was  too  cumbrous?  of  dynamite — he  did  not 
know  where  to  obtain  it  or  how  to  handle  it.  He  half- 
thought  he  should  have  to  forego  this  part  of  his  plan. 


THE    PROTEST   OE  DESPAIR,  485 

All  at  once  he  started  and  glanced  up  at  the  case  that 
ran  along  the  side  of  the  room.  His  cheek  grew  pale  and 
his  knees  trembled.  He  went  across  the  room  and  sat 
down  in  his  great  cushioned  chair,  glancing  up  at  the  win 
dow  uneasily.  Then  he  smiled  at  his  own  emotion, 
nodded  his  head,  and  chuckled  gleefully  to  himself.  He 
looked  brighter  than  he  had  in  months.  The  burden  of 
woe  that  he  had  carried  so  long  seemed  lifted  from  his 
shoulders  in  an  instant.  He  had  found  a  way  to  ac 
complish  his  purpose.  He  nodded  his  head  emphatically 
and  contentedly.  Then  he  rose  and  opened  one  of  the 
glass  cases  that  ran  along  the  side  of  the  room  and  took 
out  a  square,  polished  box.  He  closed  the  case ;  locked 
it  carefully ;  sat  down  at  his  desk,  and  taking  a  bunch  of 
keys  from  a  drawer  tried  one  after  another  in  the  lock  of 
the  box,  whistling  softly  to  himself  as  he  did  so.  He 
could  hear  the  steps  and  the  chatter  of  the  passers-by, 
but  he  was  alone — alone  in  the  midst  of  the  great  city's 
life.  At  length  the  lock  yielded  and  he  opened  the  box. 
Within  it  was  a  green  glass  globe,  a  little  larger  than  a 
base-ball,  resting  on  a  bed  of  soft  white  cotton.  The  lid 
was  cushioned,  too.  He  looked  at  it  curiously,  still  whist 
ling,  turned  it  over  carefully,  and  revealed  a  mass  of  red 
sealing-wax,  stamped  with  a  German  motto.  He  remem 
bered  its  purport :  "  The  Protest  of  Despair."  He  stopped 
whistling  and  smiled  as  he  read  it.  What  was  the  use  of 
the  preparation  he  had  made  to  destroy  his  treasures?  He 
had  only  to  drop  that  on  the  floor  and  there  would  be  an 
end  of  all  things  in  the  room.  It  was  one  of  the  bombs 
prepared  for  a  great  anarchistic  uprising.  Its  duplicate 
had  cost  a  monarch  his  life  and  decimated  his  guard.  Its 
power  was  incalculable.  How  the  heedless  crowd  upon 
the  street  would  stare  to  see  wall  and  window  leaping  out 
upon  them ! 


486  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

He  had'  not  thought  of  that  before.  There  was  a 
charm  in  this  sort  of  a  sensational  taking  off!  It  might 
seem  accidental — probably  would  be.  This  would  save 
the  feelings  of  his  family.  He  had  intended,  after  de 
stroying  all  his  unique  surroundings,  to  provide  for  his 
death  otherwise.  He  had  the  means  in  his  desk.  He 
had  thought  some  of  setting  the  whole  on  fire — had  almost 
concluded  that  he  would.  And  this — this  ball  of  glass — • 
would  do  it  all  in  an  instant!  But  then  the  Golden  Lilies 
— that  would  stand  as  his  pitiful  monument  forever  if  he 
did!  This  malignant  globe  would  save  him  from  that 
too.  Only  hurl  that  against  the  door,  the  tower,  the  roof, 
anywhere,  and  the  Golden  Lilies,  his  church,  would  never 
serve  to  point  a  jest  at  him!  Why  not?  He  rose  hastily 
and  walked  across  the  room.  The  clocks  began  to  strike 
again.  He  looked  around  smiling  as  he  recognized  the 
notes  of  one  after  another.  "  Plently  of  time,"  he  said 
to  himself.  Then  he  seated  himself  at  his  desk  and  be 
gan  to  write.  "No  man  shall  say  I  shirked  anything," 
he  muttered. 

He  wrote,  not  very  rapidly,  but  in  almost  microscopic 
characters  with  the  lines  very  far  apart.  Probably  no  one 
ever  saw  Wilton  Kishu's  handwriting  for  the  first  time 
without  expressing  surprise  at  its  character.  It  seemed 
utterly  inconsistent  with  the  man  himself.  This  was  be 
cause  his  external  qualities  were  such  as  to  mislead  the 
superficial  observer.  Judging  by  form  alone,  the  careless 
deduction  was  often  made  that  his  handwriting  would  be 
loose  and  scraggly.  Nothing  could  be  farther  from  his 
mental  make-up.  Precision,  certainty,  were  the  very 
breath  of  life  to  him  intellectually.  Nothing  ever  hap 
pened  to  him ;  everything  was  planned,  deliberately  pre 
determined.  The  fine,  firm  letters  and  straight,  unguided 


THE   PROTEST  OF  DESPAIR.  487 

lines  were  a  perfect  type  of  the  directness  and  unyielding 
temper  of  this  man  who  had  won  success  in  the  very  field 
for  which  he  seemed  least  fitted,  by  unremitting  assiduity 
and  unresting  watchfulness. 

He  wrote  on  steadily,  firmly,  tracing  the  even  lines 
across  the  white,  heavy  paper,  having  at  the  top  in  place 
of  a  crest  the  one  embossed  letter,  "  K."  He  filled  one 
page,  another,  and  half  a  third,  never  once  pausing  for  a 
word  and  making  no  erasure.  He  knew  what  he  wanted 
to  say;  not  that  he  had  conned  it  over,  but  the  training 
of  a  life  of  business  in  which  brevity  and  directness  had 
been  recognized  as  the  most  valuable  qualities,  had  given 
him  great  facility  in  the  clear  expression  of  his  thought. 
When  he  had  finished  the  letter  he  blotted  and  folded  it 
without  reading.  He  put  it  in  an  envelope  and  directed 
it  to 

"  JONAS  UNDERWOOD,  ESQ., 

Hotel  Hygeia, 

Point  Comfort,  Va." 

He  looked  at  the  superscription  a  moment,  laid  the 
letter  down  upon  his  desk  and  walked  back  and  forth 
across  the  room,  seated  himself  and  began  to  write  again. 
When  he  had  finished  this  letter,  he  took  a  check-book 
from  his  desk,  glanced  at  the  balance,  filled  out  the  stub, 
and  drew  a  check  which  he  folded  into  the  letter.  When 
he  had  sealed  the  envelope  and  direoted  it  to  "Joseph 
Lampson,  Esq.,"  he  hesitated  a  moment,  holding  his  pen 
close-gripped  in  his  short,  chubby  fingers,  then  added, 
"  In  care  of  Rev.  Murvale  Eastman,  City." 

The  clocks  chimed  again.  The  winter  day  was  draw 
ing  to  a  close.  Already  the  electric  lights  flickered  and 
gleamed  without,  casting  gray,  unreal,  dancing  shadows 


48  8  MURVAL  E   EA  S  7  'JA  / .  V. 

over  marble  and  granite  fronts,  on  the  snowy  streets  and 
hurrying  crowds.  Wilton  Kishu  stood  with  his  letters  in 
his  hand  looking  over  the  half-raised  window-shade  as  the 
darkness  came  on.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated,  then  he 
put  on  his  hat,  went  out,  and  dropped  his  letters  in  a  box 
a  dozen  steps  away.  He  walked  cautiously,  for  the  pave 
ment  was  slippery  and  the  wind  blew  cold  and  gusty;  a 
policeman  proffered  his  assistance.  Mr.  Kishu  accepted 
his  aid,  thanked  him  kindly  and  gave  him  a  douceur  for 
his  thoughtfulness.  When  he  returned  he  drew  up  the 
shades,  touched  a  button,  and  the  electric  globes  all  over 
the  room  shone  at  once  with  a  soft,  genial  light.  He 
went  back  to  his  desk,  sat  down  in  the  wide  arm-chair, 
turned  it  half-around,  and  gazed  dreamily  about  his  office. 
How  comfortable  it  was!  How  complete  in  all  its  ap 
pointments!  How  happy  he  had  been  in  it!  He  had 
never  thought  of  it  before  in  that  way.  He  had  enjoyed 
the  pleasure  and  surprise  of  others  in  witnessing  its  per 
fections,  but  he  had  been  too  busy  to  think  that  they  had 
contributed  materially  to  his  own  happiness.  Now  he 
realized  that  everything  about  it  had  become  a  part  of  him 
self.  Here  he  had  planned  his  triumphs,  won  his  success, 
enjoyed  his  victories!  And  now —  A  twinge  of  pain 
swept  over  his  face.  It  hurt  him  to  think  of  destroying 
what  he  loved  so  well.  It  seemed  like  ingratitude,  as  if 
the  whole  place  was  animate  with  something  more  than 
memories — real  pleasures  indeed,  which  cried  out  in  every 
tick  and  chime  against  annihilation  at  the  hands  of  the 
man  they  had  served  so  faithfully,  so  joyfully.  He  thought 
his  clocks,  his  furniture,  his  curios,  must  love  him,  as  he 
had  loved  them.  Sweat  broke  out  upon  his  brow.  He 
rose  and  walked  about,  taking  a  last  look  at  everything. 
His  face  paled  and  purpled  by  turns.  He  sat  down  pant 
ing  and  distressed. 


THE  PROTEST  OF  DESPAIR.  489 

"Not  yet — not  quite  yet!"  he  murmured.  "The 
church  first!  " 

He  opened  a  drawer  and  took  from  it  the  plans  of  the 
church.  He  must  decide  where  he  would  explode  the 
bomb.  He  meant  to  make  thorough  work.  It  was  not 
from  a  spirit  of  revenge,  but  because  he  wanted  to  eradi 
cate  all  traces  of  himself  from  it.  Alas !  he  found  himself 
all  over  it.  From  foundation  to  apse,  his  thought  was 
everywhere.  How  much  would  the  bomb  destroy!  He 
took  it  out  of  its  case  and  held  it  in  his  hand,  while  he 
read  the  account  of  the  devastation  wrought  by  its  dupli 
cate  in  the  broad  avenue  of  the  foreign  capital.  He  knew 
it  all,  but  he  read  it  word  for  word,  how  it  had  torn  up  the 
pavements  so  that  a  cart  might  almost  be  hidden  in  the 
holes  it  made.  He  smiled  grimly  as  he  read.  It  was 
turning  the  weapons  of  the  Socialists  against  themselves; 
for  they  were  all  alike,  Socialists,  Anarchists,  Nihilists,  it 
mattered  not  what — Christian  or  un-Christian,  they  were 
all  the  same — fire-brands,  robbers,  bomb-throwers,  pttro- 
lenses — all  mere  envious  haters  of  the  rich.  They  had  no 
right  to  use  the  church ;  it  was  a  profanation  of  its  sacred 
precincts. 

A  beautifully-colored  photograph  of  the  Christ-head 
lighted  by  the  sun  shining  through  the  western  oriel  fell 
out  from  among  the  plans  he  was  examining.  He  picked 
it  up.  In  a  moment  the  tears  were  running  down  his 
cheeks;  his  lips  quivered;  his  hand  trembled.  He 
reached  over  and  hastily  deposited  the  glass  globe  in  the 
case  from  which  he  had  taken  it.  Laying  the  picture  on 
the  desk  and  leaning  his  head  upon  his  hands,  he  gazed 
long  and  earnestly  upon  it.  He  took  a  handkerchief  and 
wiped  the  tears  from  his  eyes,  throwing  his  head  back 
ward  as  he  did  so,  while  his  broad  chest  heaved  tumultu- 


49o  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

ously  with  the  sobs  that  burst  from  his  lips.  What  was  it 
moved  the  strong  man  so  profoundly?  The  religious  sen 
timent,  buried  beneath  years  of  passionate  devotion  to 
selfish  aims,  had  suddenly  reasserted  itself  and  showed  him 
the  brink  on  which  he  stood.  His  soul  started  up  in 
affright,  not  so  much  at  the  thought  of  doom,  as  in  horror 
at  the  crime  he  was  about  to  commit — the  crime  against 
the  loving  Christ  whose  picture  in  the  flaming  apse  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  had  become  almost  animate  to  him!  He 
could  not  lift  his  hand  against  it  to  destroy — nay,  he  could 
not  destroy  himself,  since  the  Master  had  forbidden. 
Like  Him,  he  must  suffer!  The  Master  had  suffered  and 
died;  he  must  suffer  and  live! 

He  flung  himself  upon  his  knees  beside  the  lounge 
which  stood  opposite,  sobbing  and  moaning.  The  sobs 
continued,  mingled  with  half-articulate  supplications. 
This  tremendous  revulsion  of  feeling  was  too  much  for  his 
sturdy  organism,  depleted  of  strength  by  the  long  nervous 
strain  of  weeks.  There  came  a  moan;  a  thrill  passed 
through  his  frame.  The  muscles  gave  way  and  the  body 
sank  down  upon  its  side,  still  propped  against  the  lounge, 
the  head  pressed  against  the  leather  cushion  and  the  face 
turned  upward  to  the  light.  The  cheek  quivered;  the 
lips  twitched.  The  eyes,  wide-opened,  were  fixed  and 
sightless.  The  jaw  dropped.  The  breathing  was  labored 
and  stertorous.  One  relaxed  arm  was  outspread  upon 
the  cushion,  the  other  hung  inert  against  his  side. 

The  clocks  began  to  strike,  softly  it  seemed,  as  if 
afraid  to  waken  the  man  who  loved  their  chiming.  Laugh 
ing  crowds  hurried  along  the  street.  The  bell  of  the 
Golden  Lilies  sounded  through  the  chill  winter  night. 
Wilton  Kishu  had  been  saved  from  Sin  and  delivered  from 
the  dominion  pf  Evil, 


NATURE   GREATER    THAN  ART.  491 


CHAPTER  XLV. 

NATURE    GREATER   THAN   ART. 

"Is  that  you,  Frank?" 

Lilian  Kishu  spoke  the  words  tremulously  and  plain 
tively  into  the  receiver  of  the  telephone.  Evidently  the 
answer  was  satisfactory,  for  she  continued  in  a  more 
cheerful  tone:  "Oh,  I'm  so  glad!  We  are  much  trou 
bled  about  papa." 

Then  in  response  to  an  inquiry: 

"'What's  the  matter?'  Why,  he  hasn't  come  home ;  and 
we  haven't  heard  of  him  since  morning  and  can't  imagine 
what  has  become  of  him." 

There  was  a  pause  and  a  murmur  of  a  distant  voice. 

"  No,  he's  not  at  the  office.  I've  been  there  and  it's  all 
shut  up.  We  don't  know  where  Thomas  lives  and — and 
I  don't  know  what  to  do.  Of  course,  we  don't  want  to 
show  any  alarm,  and  don't  like  to  send  the  servants  out 
after  him,  but  he  has  been  very— very  much  depressed, 
you  know,  of  late,  and  it  is  so  unusual  for  him  to  be  away 
without  letting  us  know,  that  we  are  greatly  disturbed.  To 
keep  mamma  quiet  I  told  her  I  had  heard  him  speak  of 
going  out  to  dine,  hoping  he  would  come  in  time  to  pre 
vent  her  from  learning  the  deception,  but  he  hasn't  come 
and  I  can't  learn  anything  of  him.  O  Frank,  what  shall  I 
do?  I  am  sure  something  terrible  has  happened.  What?  " 

There  was  a  crackling  murmur  on  the  transmitter, 

"Oh,  do,  please!" 


492  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  but  the  fair  girl  still 
stood  with  the  transmitter  pressed  against  her  ear. 

"Hello!"  she  said  in  answer  to  a  hail  received.  "I 
can't  think  of  any  place  he  wouM  be  likely  to  go.  You 
might  ask  the  Thunderbo.lt  office.  I  was  afraid  to  do  it 
myself." 

She  laughed  at  some  evidently  jocose  reply. 

"  Yes ;  I  know  you  could,"  she  replied.  "  You  do  tell 
a  fib — so — so  gracefully!  " 

Marsh  was  evidently  using  his  humor  to  relieve  her  ap 
prehension. 

"  All  right,  I'll  wait." 

Presently  the  crackling  in  the  transmitter  told  her  he 
was  again  at  his  place. 

"  I  am  afraid  not,"  she  said,  after  listening  to  his  report, 
"  but  it  is  a  great  relief  to  know  he  was  in  such  good  spirits 
after  he  reached  the  office.  We  noticed  it  at  breakfast. 
Do  you  suppose — it  is  possible  perhaps  that  Murvale — 
Mr.  Eastman,  I  mean — may  know  where  he  is.  I  think  it 
is  that  matter — the  suit,  you  know — that  has  been  troub 
ling  him." 

Lilian  listened  eagerly  for  a  reply.  It  was  evidently  a 
suggestion. 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  she  rejoined,  "  if  it  is  not  too  much 
trouble." 

Then  after  a  moment's  listening:  "Thank  you;  I  shall 
wait  very  patiently  until  you  come.  I  am  sure  you  will 
find  papa,  but  don't  let  him  suspect,  please,  that  we  were 
anxious.  It  might  trouble  him,  you  know." 

Ten  minutes  afterward  Murvale  Eastman  rang  the  bell 
and  was  admitted  by  Lilian  herself.  Her  face  flushed 
with  pleasure  as  she  greeted  him. 

"  Mr.  Marsh  said   you  wished   to  see  me — something 


NATURE   GREATER    THAN  ART.  493 

about  your  father,"  he  said  as  he  took  off  his  v/raps  with 
that  celerity  and  precision  which  characterized  all  his 
movements ;  "  so  I  came  at  once.  He  has  not  arrived,  I 
suppose — Marsh,  I  mean?" 

11  Not  yet." 

"He  said  he  had  some  matters  to  attend  to  at  the  office 
which  might  delay  him  a  little  while." 

Lilian  thought  of  the  difference  in  the  two  men  as  she 
ushered  Murvale  Eastman  into  the  library.  This  one  had 
dropped  everything  to  make  instant  response  to  her  de 
mand  for  aid.  Ten  minutes  before  he  had  been  a  half  a 
mile  away,  probably  busy  in  his  study  with  work  of  the 
gravest  importance.  Now  he  was  ready  to  do  her  bid 
ding.  Why  did  she  not  love  him?  She  ought  to  do  so— 
she  would — if  he  would  only  give  her  some  little  chance. 
She  closed  the  door  as  they  passed  into  the  library,  and 
came  and  stood  beside  him  by  the  glowing  grate. 

"  It  is  a  cold  night,"  he  said,  extending  his  hands  above 
the  fire. 

"  I  suppose  so." 

She  placed  her  arm  on  the  mantel  and  put  the  toe  of 
her  slipper  against  the  fender,  holding  back  her  dress  with 
the  left  hand  as  she  spoke.  The  action  was  instinctive. 
She  did  not  feel  the  slightest  chill,  but  it  seemed  natural 
that  she  should  show  some  sensible  appreciation  of  the 
fire  he  was  enjoying. 

"Well?"  he  said  inquiringly,  looking  down  at  her  with 
out  noticing  her  pretty  pose,  her  flushed  face,  or  the  ques 
tioning  look  in  her  eyes.  It  was  the  first  time  he  had 
been  alone  with  her  in  months.  His  coldness  hurt  her 
despite  her  anxiety.  She  had  determined  to  become  his 
wife.  The  very  fear  she  had  experienced  showed  her  that 
it  was  all  the  more  necessary  that  she  should  hold  to  her 


494  MURVALE  EASTMAN-. 

purpose.  Strangely  enough,  she  had  not  felt  a  single  thrill 
of  apprehension  since  she  had  heard  his  voice.  Such  was 
her  confidence  in  his  power  to  accomplish  what  he  under 
took,  that  she  already  regarded  her  former  fear  vain.  It 
was  almost  ten  o'clock;  but  she  was  sure  now  that  her 
father  was  safe.  It  would  not  surprise  her  to  have  him 
walk  into  the  room  at  any  moment.  She  hoped  he  would 
— and  find  them  together.  Thinking  of  her  father  re 
minded  her  how  much  depended  on  her  carrying  out  the 
role  she  had  assigned  herself.  She  must  tell  Murvale  all 
that  she  had  learned,  make  him  her  confidant,  bind  him 
to  her  irrevocably.  She  did  not  doubt  his  love.  She 
must  make  him  show  it. 

"  O  Murvale!  "  she  said,  laying  her  hand  upon  his  arm 
and  drawing  timidly  closer  to  him ;  "  you  do  not  know 
how — how  glad  I  am — that  you  have  come!  " 

Her  eyes  were  cast  down ;  her  bosom  heaved ;  her  voice 
was  low  and  pleading. 

A  flush  passed  over  Eastman's  face.  Had  he  been  mis' 
taken?  Did  she  lovs  him?  He  tried  to  pull  himself  to 
gether,  but  his  tone  was  not  exactly  positive  as  he  replied, 
not  altogether  pertinently: 

"  Anything  I  can  do— of  course,"  with  that  he  stopped 
and  looked  down  upon  the  beautiful  head  bowed  humbly 
before  him.  Almost  before  he  knew  it  her  head  had  fall 
en  on  her  hand  which  rested  on  his  arm. 

"  I  am  so  sorry,"  she  said  contritely,  "  to — to — have 
made  you  so  much — trouble." 

"  No  trouble  in  the  world,"  said  the  matter-of-fact  man, 
becoming  himself  again  and  placing  his  hand  caressingly 
upon  her  head  as  if  she  were  a  child.  "  You  didn't  sup 
pose  I  would  hesitate  to  come,  did  you,  Lilian?" 

There  was  a  touch  of  tenderness  in  his  voice  as  he 


NATURE    GREATER    THAN  ART.  495 

spoke  her  name.  Lilian  felt  it.  If  she  had  seen  the 
quiver  of  his  lip  and  the  burning  light  of  his  eyes  as  he 
looked  down  upon  her,  she  would  have  thrown  herself 
upon  his  breast,  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  have  made 
an  end  of  doubt,  for  the  sake  of  the  father  whose  absence 
she  had  for  the  nonce  almost  forgotten. 

"  Is  your  father  ill?  "  he  asked  after  a  moment. 

"He  is  gone — "  said  the  conscience-stricken  girl,  her 
fears  returning  with  redoubled  force  at  this  inquiry.  "  We 
don't  know  where  he  is,  Mr.  Eastman.  We  can't  learn 
anything  about  him  since  morning." 

Her  fears  returning  upon  her  with  renewed  force  after 
their  brief  withdrawal,  she  sobbed  and  wept,  quite  forget 
ful  by  whom  she  was  supported. 

"  There,  there,"  said  Eastman,  restored  to  his  natural 
quiet  and  self-possession  by  her  passionate  grief.  "  Don't 
give  way,  now;  sit  down  and  tell  me  all  about  it.  There 
is  probably  no  reason  for  alarm." 

He  handed  her  to  one  of  the  great  russet  leather  chairs 
and  seated  himself  in  another  beside  her. 

"  It  must  seem  very  foolish  to  you,"  she  said  as  she 
wiped  her  eyes  and  looked  up  at  him  with  a  smile — "  so 
much  alarm  because  a  man  is  not  home  to  dinner.  Mam 
ma  is  not  so  very  much  disturbed,  because  he  used  to  go 
off  that  way  a  good  deal  when  business  called  him  out  of 
the  city,  and  forget  to  let  her  know  until  perhaps  he  would 
telegraph  from  somewhere  a  hundred  miles  away.  Some 
times,  too,  he  would  go  out  to  dine  or  to  a  meeting  of 
some  sort  without  letting  us  know;  but  for  two  or  three 
years  he  had  done  less  business  and  has  been  more  at  home. 

"It  would  not  alarm  me  so  very  much  now,  but  I  have 
been  with  him  a  great  deal  of -late  and  I  know  he  was 
suffering  from  anxiety  and — and — I  hardly  know  what  I 


496  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

am  afraid  of.  It  is  all  that  dreadful  matter  about  the  law 
suits,"  she  finally  burst  out  in  a  tone  of  desperation — 
"with  Mr.  Underwood,  you  know.  He  thinks  they  will 
ruin  him  and — and  —well,  you  see  it  has  made  him  des 
perate,  and  he  has  not  been  himself  for  weeks — he  has 
not,  truly." 

She  clasped  her  hands  in  her  lap  and  looked  up  at  him 
with  tears  rolling  down  her  flushed  cheeks. 

"I  thought,"  she  continued,  "that  you  might — I  am 
sure  you  could  if  you  would — settle  the  matter  some 
how,  without  quite  ruining  us?" 

She  looked  at  him  appealingly.  Murvale  dropped  her 
hand  and  walked  across  the  room  once  or  twice. 

"  Do  you  know  the  offer  that  has  been  made  him?  "  he 
asked  almost  sternly,  stopping  before  her. 

Lilian  bowed  without  looking  up. 

"Why  doesn't  he  accept  the  terms?  Why  doesn't  he 
tell  this  father  what  he  knows  about  the  child  he  has 
lost?" 

"  He  can't,  Mr.  Eastman." 

"  Cannot— why?     Was  the  child  drowned?  " 

"Drowned?     No;  I  wish  it  had  been." 

She  spoke  hysterically  and  began  to  weep  again. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,"  he  said,  speaking  more 
gently. 

"How  can  I  tell  you?  I  thought  perhaps — if — if 
things  had  been  different,  I  might  have  told  you." 

He  saw  her  burning  cheeks,  though  her  eyes  were  fixed 
upon  her  hands  as  she  nervously  knotted  and  undid  the 
handkerchief  in  her  lap. 

"Surely,  Lilian,  you  can  trust  me?" 

"Yes,  I  can — I  will,"  she  exclaimed  resolutely,  glanc 
ing  up  at  him — "  but  don't  look  at  me — please." 


NATURE   GREATER    THAN  ART. 


497 


He  turned  away,  and  she  went  on  hurriedly  as  if  afraid 
her  courage  would  forsake  her. 

"  He  wasn't  to  blame  about  the  child  at  all — at  least, 
not  as  you  think.  He  saved  her  when  the  boy  who  had 
stolen  her  fell  over  the  bank — saved  her  at  the  risk  of  his 
own  life  too,  and  brought  her  home.  He  was  in  great 
need  of  a  small  sum  of  money  just  then — to  conclude  a 
trade,  you  know — and  after  he  went  to  the  office  that 
night  he  found  in  his  pocket  the  plaything  which  the 
child  had  given  him.  Curious  to  know  what  it  was,  he 
opened  it,  and  found  the  opal  within.  He  says  it  made 
him  shudder,  then,  and  Tm  sure  it  has  made  trouble 
enough  to  justify  his  fears. 

"Yes;  he  used  it.  That  was  wrong,  I  know;  but  he 
did  not  mean  to  keep  it.  He  went  away  to  close  the 
trade  and  was  gone  some  weeks.  He  left  the  little  girl 
at  home— with  mamma,  you  know — and  she — please  look 
away — she  was  jealous — and  sent  it  off.  She  would  not 
tell  him  where  it  was.  He  hunted  up  the  mother;  he 
did  not  dare  tell  what  had  happened — or  I  suppose 
thought  he  would  some  time  find  the  child.  But  he  sent 
the  mother  money  from  time  to  time  until  he  lost  sight  of 
her.  He  thought  she  was  a  widow." 

"But  the  child?"    asked  Eastman,  turning  suddenly 
and  confronting  her. 

"  Mamma  provided  for  her,  but — you  know  she  is — 
not — perfect,  Murvale.  She  would  not  tell  what  had  be 
come  of  it  until  years  afterward.  Then  she  showed  papa 
a  letter.  It  was  too  late.  He  sought  but  could  not  find 
her.  He  told  me  all  about  it.  The  man  was  dead — all 
trace  of  him  was  lost — and — and  the  woman — she  was 
lost,  too.  I  am  afraid  he  has  gone  in  search  of  her  again, 
32 


49  8  MURVALE  EAST  MAX. 

and  he  is  not  fit  for  such  work  now — not  fit  to  travel 
alone,  you  know." 

"  Do  you  know  what  was  in  that  letter?  " 

"  There  it  is/' 

Lilian  took  a  crumpled  paper  from  her  pocket  and 
handed  it  to  him.  He  turned  it  to  the  light  and  read.  As 
he  did  so  the  troubled  look  faded  out  of  his  face.  He 
turned  and  caught  her  hand  in  both  of  his,  crushing  the 
letter  between  them  as  he  did  so. 

"  Why,  Lilian !"  he  exclaimed.  "Do  not  worry  any 
more.  It  is  all  right.  The  child  is  alive.  Your  father 
need  not  fear  any  blame  or  difficulty.  Everything  will  be 
settled  now.  Indeed,  I  am  glad!  " 

He  let  go  her  hand  to  snatch  his  watch  from  his  pocket. 

"  Marsh  will  be  here  in  five  minutes.  It's  all  right. 
Your  trouble  is  at  an  end.  I  must  run  around  and  see 
Mrs.  Merton  a  moment.  It  is  only  a  step,  and  I  will  be 
back  in  a  few  minutes.  Then  we  will  find  your  father. 
You  don't  know  how  much  happiness  you  have  given  me. 
You  have  not  only  saved  your  father,  but  the  Under 
woods  will  have  to  thank  you  for  finding  their  daughter. 
And  such  a  daughter,  too!  I  must  see  Mrs.  Merton,  if  it 
is  only  for  a  second !  " 

•  Lilian  had  risen  when  he  caught  her  hand,  and  now 
stood  looking  after  him  in  wonder  as  he  rushed  from  the 
room,  his  face  glowing  with  pleasure.  She  heard  him 
close  the  door  and  run  rapidly  down  the  steps. 

"  Mrs.  Merton,"  she  said  to  herself.  "  What  has  she  to 
do  with  it!  Does  he  have  to  tell  her  everything? — Ah!  " 

She  uttered  this  exclamation  with  something  like  a 
gasp.  She  thought  of  his  flushed  face  and  the  dancing 
light  in  his  eyes  as  he  fled  away.  She  could  think  of  but 
one  explanation  for  it,  and  that  was 


NATURE   GREATER    THAN  ART. 


499 


She  covered  her  face  with  her  hands  and  threw  herself 
upon  the  lounge.  A  moment  afterward  the  bell  rang. 
Hastily  rising,  she  went  to  the  door  and  admitted  Frank 
Marsh. 

"Why,  Lily!"  he  exclaimed,  gazing  anxiously  at  her 
troubled,  tear-stained  face.  "  You  must  not  be  so  wor 
ried.  There  is  really  nothing  to  fear.  It's  only  ten 
o'clock.  Your  father  may  come  in  any  moment.  Don't, 
dear,  don't!  "  he  added,  taking  her  arm  as  he  stuffed  his 
fur  cap  into  his  pocket.  How  kind  and  sympathetic  he 
was!  She  did  not  think  of  his  action  as  an  undue  famil 
iarity.  It  was  a  comfort  to  have  him  near  her. 

"  Come  now,  let  us  talk  it  over,"  he  said  gently,  lead' 
ing  her  toward  the  library.  "  Is  Eastman  here?  " 

"  He  just  went  out,"  she  replied.  "  O  Frank,  I  have 
had  an  awful  time — perfectly  awful!  " 

She  withdrew  her  arm  from  his  clasp  as  she  spoke,  as 
if  she  had  just  become  conscious  of  it. 

"  Don't  take  it  so  seriously,  Lily.  There  is  no  ground 
for  alarm." 

"  I  didn't  mean  that,"  she  retorted  petulantly. 

"  What  did  you  mean,  then?  " 

"  I  mean — I've  been  a  fool,  Frank  Marsh,  and  so  have 
you." 

"  No  doubt  about  it  so  far  as  I  am  concerned,"  an 
swered  the  saucy  youngster,  shaking  his  head.  "  That  is 
one  of  the  first  lessons  I  ever  learned.  If  that's  all  you 
have  to  say  to  me  I  may  as  well  go  back  to  my  work. 
Did  you  tell  Eastman  he  was  a  fool,  too?  " 

"  Now,  Frank — if  you  ever  mention  his  name  to  me 
again 

"  But  you  told  me  to  call  him  up  and  ask  him  to  come." 

"Yes,  I  know;  and  I'm  real  glad  you  did." 


5oo  MURVALE  &4STA/AM 

"You  don't  seem  so." 

"  Oh,  but  I  am.  He  says  everything  will  be  all  right— 
the  suits  settled  and  all  that,  you  know — and  poor  papa 
will  have  no  more  trouble." 

"  That's  good  news,  I  am  sure." 

"Isn't  it?" 

"  But  does  he  know  where  your  father  is?  " 

"  No ;  but  he  thought  he  could  find  him — you  and  he, 
that  is." 

"  But  where  has  he  gone?  " 

"  He  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes.  You  are  to  wait 
for  him." 

"Oh,  I  am?     Then  I'll  sit  down,  if  you  please." 

They  seated  themselves  in  the  very  chairs  Lilian  and 
Eastman  had  occupied,  and  Marsh's  irrepressible  spirits 
bubbled  over  in  a  stream  of  small-talk  as  soon  as  he  saw 
the  clouds  lifting  from  her  face. 

"Isn't  it  about  time  for  Eastman  to  come?"  he  asked 
uneasily  after  a  while. 

"He'll  be  here  presently,"  Lilian  answered  with  a 
meaning  smile. 

"  All  right,"  said  Marsh  contentedly.  "  I  can  stand  it 
if  he  can.  I  suppose  he  knows  what  he  is  about." 

Lilian  laughed. 

"  You  would  think  so  if " 

"If  what?" 

"  If  you  knew— 

"Well,  knew  what?" 

"Oh,  dear!  "  laughed  Lilian  unconstrainedly.  It's  too 
funny!" 

"  It  must  be,  judging  from  its  effect.  Of  course,  I 
don't  know  what  it  is." 

"  I  wonder  if  I'd  better  tell  you?  " 


NATURE   GREATER    THAN  ART.  501 

"  As  you  choose ;  you  know  I  can  wait,"  significantly. 

"  Did  you  ever  think " 

"  I  have  tried  to  sometimes,  thank  you ;  never  very  suc 
cessfully  when  you  were  about!  " 

'•"Pshaw!"  she  said,  pushing  him  playfully  away.  He 
caught  her  hand  and  held  it  unresistingly,  almost  uncon 
sciously. 

"Did  you  ever  think  that — that  he  was  in  love?  " 

"The  most  natural  thing  in  the  world;  but  what  partic 
ular  'he  '  do  you  refer  to?  " 

"  Why,  Murvile  Eastman,  of  course." 

"Of  course,  eh?  Well,  then,  I  have  thought  he  was  in 
love,  and  been  very  sorry  for  the  fact,  too." 

"No,  I  don't  mean  that — with  somebody  else — Mrs. 
Merton,  for  instance?" 

"  Never  did ;  but  I  should  be  very  glad  to  know  it." 

"  Well,  it  is  so." 

"  You  don't  tell  me?     How  lucky!  " 

"Isn't  it?" 

"  I  suppose  it  makes  you  horribly  jealous?  " 

"  Not  a  bit ;  she  is  one  of  the  sweetest  women  in  the 
world,  and  he  deserves  a  good  wife." 

"  A  better  one  than  you  would  have  made  him  ?  " 

"Yes." 

She  utters  the  word  with  a  little  sigh,  looking  down  at 
her  hand  which  Marsh  is  holding  caressingly  in  his  own. 

"  You  never  loved  him?  " 

"  I — tried  to,"  she  answered  humbly. 

"Tried  to?  Poor,  little  thing,"  said  Marsh,  taking  her 
in  his  arms.  "  She  has  been  my  sweetheart  ever  since  we 
were  children,  and  can't  get  over  her  love  for  her  old  play 
mate!  Isn't  it  so,  Lily  dear?  " 

She  let  her  head  fall  upon  his  shoulder  with  a  tired  sob, 


502  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

"  Now,  Lily,  what  is  the  use  of  this  nonsense?  " 

"  But  you  know,  Frank " 

"  I  know  your  father  is  rich,  and  I  am  dependent  on 
what  I  can  earn.  But  that  is  enough  for  the  present,  and 
it  will  be  growing  more  as  we  grow  older." 

"  But  father  would  never  consent " 

"  Then  I  will  run  away  with  you." 

"  I  wish  you  would,"  she  said  with  a  contented  smile. 

The  bell  rang  and  Frank  Marsh  went  to  open  the  door, 
leaving  Lilian  to  hide  her  blushes  and  prepare  to  meet 
her  former  lover  with  composure.  She  waited  longer  than 
seemed  needful,  but  no  one  came.  She  put  aside  the 
portiere  and  looked  out  into  the  hall.  The  murmur  of  a 
half-whispered  conversation  came  from  the  vestibule.  At 
once  apprehension  for  her  father  overpowered  all  other 
thoughts.  She  felt — she  knew — that  this  whispered  con 
versation  boded  evil.  The  color  fled  from  her  cheeks. 
With  a  hand  pressed  upon  her  heart  she  moved  toward 
the  vestibule.  Her  slippered  feet  made  no  sound.  Mur- 
vale  Eastman  in  overcoat  and  wraps  stood  talking  with 
Frank  Marsh. 

"  You  must  tell  her,"  said  the  elder  man,  whose  face 
was  pallid  even  to  his  lips,  though  his  quick  breathing 
showed  recent  exertion. 

"  I  cannot,"  replied  the  younger.  She  could  not  see 
his  face,  but  his  tone  was  full  of  agony. 

"  Is  it  about  my  father?  "  asked  Lilian,  stepping  forward 
and  looking  from  one  troubled  face  to  the  other. 

"O  Lily,"  exclaimed  Marsh,  half-turning  toward  her 
and  instinctively  putting  an  arm  about  her  waist,  "do  not 
be  troubled ;  perhaps  it  is  not  so  bad ;  we  will  hope  for 
the  best." 

"  What  is  it? — tell  me,"  she  said,  looking  steadily  in  the 


NATURE    GREATER    THAN  ART.  503 

face  of  Murvale  Eastman.  She  did  not  lean  upon  the 
arm  which  encircled  her,  nor  seem  conscious  of  Marsh's 
presence. 

"  Your  father  has  been  found,"  answered  Eastman  with 
mechanical  directness. 

"Alive?" 

The  word  was  little  more  than  a  sigh  of  apprehension, 
but  her  gaze  did  not  falter. 

"  He  has  had  a  stroke — apoplexy,  probably.  He  is  still 
alive.  I  have  called  a  physician.  The  ambulance  will  be 
here  in  a  moment." 

"Where  was  he?" 

"  In  his  office." 

"  But  the  door  was  locked ;  I  tried  it  myself." 

"Indeed?  Yes — I — we" — confusedly — "we — we  broke 
it  open." 

"  But  how  came  it  to  be  locked?  " 

"Just  so— well — you  see — "  Murvale  Eastman  passed 
his  gloved  hand  across  his  face  in  confusion.  He  was  not 
used  to  prevarication.  He  had  asked  himself  the  ques 
tion  when,  after  the  policeman  on  the  beat  had  given  him 
a  back,  he  climbed  up  and  peering  over  the  edge  of  the 
curtain  had  seen  the  pallid  face  of  Wilton  Kishu  staring 
up  from  the  dark  leather  of  the  lounge  against  which  his 
form  reclined.  The  officer  had  thought  of  it  when,  having 
heard  the  others  report,  he  had  used  his  club  to  break  a 
hole  in  the  thick  plate-glass  of  the  door  through  which  to 
thrust  his  arm  and  turn  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"  Shure  it's  quare  enough,  it  is.  It  was  hardly  dark 
when  he  kam  out  all  by  himself — not  even  his  gum  shoes 
on  the  fate  of  him — an'  wint  to  the  corner  to  pit  his  let 
ters  in  the  box.  By  the  same  token  I  helped  him  back — 
for  the  walk  is  glare  ice,  ye  see — an'  he  give  me  a  dollar, 


5^4 


MURVALE  EASTMAN. 


right  here  by  the  door,  now,  to  drink  his  hilth  with  when 
I  kam  aff  duty,  ye  know.  Shure  he  must  hev  locked  him- 
rilfin." 

Eastman  sent  the  loquacious  Irishman  to  ring  in  a  call 
for  an  ambulance  and  bring  a  physician,  and  as  soon  as 
he  had  gone,  had  looked  keenly  around  for  evidences  of 
the  act  he  suspected.  The  ax  and  saw  he  returned  to 
the  case  from  which  they  had  been  taken,  the  door  of 
which  was  still  open,  wondering  what  could  be  the  mean 
ing  of  their  presence.  Then  his  eye  caught  sight  of  the 
brass-bound  case  and  the  green  glass  globe  resting  on  its 
cushioned  bed.  He  shuddered  with  horror,  for  he  knew 
its  deadly  contents.  To  close  the  case  and  put  it  under 
his  arm  beneath  his  overcoat  was  the  work  of  an  instant. 
He  saw  that  the  man  was  yet  alive.  The  regular,  though 
heavy,  stertorous  breathing  told  him  that.  He  judged 
that  the  reclining  position  in  which  he  had  fallen,  the  head 
well  raised  and  chest  thrown  out,  was  the  best  he  could 
have.  After  feeling  his  pulse  and  passing  his  hand  over 
the  beaded  brow  he  waited  the  coming  of  the  physician, 
and  as  soon  as  he  had  learned  that  there  was  nothing 
more  for  him  to  do,  hastened  on  to  break  the  news  to  the 
family.  While  he  hesitated,  there  came  an  impatient 
peal  at  the  door-bell. 

"I  must. warn  my  mother,"  said  Lilian,  alert  at  once 
to  the  situation.  "Have  him  taken  to  'his  room;  you 
know  where  it  is,  Frank." 

Wilton  Kishu,  breathing  heavily,  but  with  a  softened 
peaceful  look  upon  his  face,  was  laid  upon  his  bed ;  the 
stricken  wife  sank  down  upon  her  knees  beside  the  couch. 
The  physician  reported  that  there  was  no  immediate  dan 
ger.  One  by  one  the  attendants  and  the  aroused  servants 
stole  away.  When  Lilian  asked  for  Murvale  Eastman,  he 


NATURE   GREATER    THAN  ART. 


5°5 


too  was  gone.  The  physician  remained  all  night  by  his 
patient's  bedside.  Now  and  then,  Frank  or  Lilian  came 
from  the  library  to  hear  his  report. 

It  was  well  past  midnight  when  Murvale  Eastman  stood 
upon  the  bridge  that  hung  high  above  the  frozen  river. 
The  wind  blew  fiercely  and  the  snow  was  falling  fast. 
The  dismantled  shipping  lay  in  ghostly  silence  along  the 
wharves.  The  electric  lights  shone  flickeringly  down 
upon  the  rough,  snow-flecked,  icy  surface  below.  He  re 
membered  that  a  sudden  freeze  had  bound  together  the 
massive  blocks  the  wind  had  heaped  upon  each  other. 
He  looked  sharply  up  and  down  the  stream ;  back  and 
forth  along  the  lighted  roadway.  There  was  nobody  in 
sight.  He  stepped  back  a  pace  or  two  from  the  parapet, 
drew  something  from  his  pocket,  swung  his  arm  back, 
leaped  quickly  forward,  and  with  a  thrill  of  horror  launched 
a  gleaming  missile  into  the  dim  misty  distance.  It  went  far 
beyond  the  range  of  the  lamplight.  He  clung  to  the  para 
pet — looked,  and  listened.  A  flash  shone  back  through  the 
falling  snow,  sending  sharp,  piercing  spires  of  light  far  up 
ward  toward  the  fleecy  clouds,  but  smothered  at  the  sides 
by  the  massed  flocculence  of  falling  flakes.  Then  there 
came  a  roar  which  sounded  uncertain  and  far  off  amid  the 
whirling  snow-fall,  yet  which  shook  the  earth  with  its  force. 
A  hundred  policemen  heard  it  upon  their  beats.  Sleepers 
were  awakened  by  it;  but  watchers  and  sleepers  alike 
thought  it  a  clap  of  thunder  in  a  mid-winter  snow-storm. 
After  a  moment  he  heard  the  rattle  of  falling  fragments. 
Then  he  walked  quietly  homeward.  The  next  day  there 
was  a  black  open  place  in  the  middle  of  the  hard-frozen 
stream.  Around  it  lay  great  blocks  of  shattered  ice. 
Many  went  to  see  it  and  wondered  what  had  caused 
the  phenomenon.  It  was  generally  believed  to  be  the 


506  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

effect  of  the  lightning  which  had  been  heralded  by  the 
thunder. 

The  secret  of  Wilton  Kishu's  purpose  was  safely  hidden 
in  his  pastor's  breast.  The  morning  papers  told  only  of 
the  stroke  which  had  mercifully  preserved  him  from  worse 
evil,  and  with  it  linked  the  cheering  news  that  recovery 
was  regarded  as  probable.  Only  two  shared  the  knowl 
edge  of  the  truth  with  the  pastor,  and  they  only  by  infer 
ence — Jonas  Underwood  and  Joseph  Lampson — and  their 
lips  were  sealed,  the  one  by  gratitude  and  the  other  by  re 
morse.  The  next  day  Murvale  Eastman  accompanied 
Mrs.  Merton  and  her  daughter  to  a  joyful  reunion  with  her 
parents  in  that  most  delightful  of  winter  resorts,  the  Hotel 
Hygeia  in  Hampton  Roads. 

When  Wilton  Kishu  opened  his  eyes  to  consciousness, 
Lampson  was  sitting  by  his  bedside.  He  had  made  his 
appearance  the  day  after  his  old  employer's  mishap,  and 
with  an  insistence  that  would  not  be  denied,  had  claimed 
the  right  to  share  the  watch  at  his  bedside. 

"  Is  that  you,  Joe?  "  asked  the  sick  man. 

"  I  should  like  to  know  who  else  you  would  take  me 
for,''  said  the  deformed  man,  stepping  lightly  on  his  slender 
legs  to  the  bed  and  stretching  his  arm  over  to  adjust  the 
coverlet. 

"Where  am  I,  Joe?" 

There  was  a  little  thickness  about  the  speech  and  his 
eye  was  somewhat  sluggish  in  its  movements,  but  there 
was  no  doubt  that  the  brain  of  Wilton  Kishu  was  waking 
from  its  long  slumber. 

"  What  a  notion !  Where  should  he  be  except  in  his 
own  room  in  his  own  house?  Just  take  a  look  around 
you  once.  Did  you  think  you  were  in  the  office?  I  had 
them  bring  up  some  of  the  clocks — some  of  the  choicest, 


NATURE    GREATER    THAN  ART.  507 

which  I  knew  you  liked  the  best — so  you  could  hear  them 
strike.  I  thought  you'd  like  to  hear  them  when  you  woke. 
It's  a  great  pity;  but  they've  just  finished  striking  twelve. 
You  go  to  sleep  again  and  I'll  wake  you  for  the  half- 
hour." 

"What's  the  matter  with  me,  Joe?" 

"  What's  the  matter?  That's  a  pretty  question  for  one 
to  ask  who  has  been  hanging  for  days  between  life  and 
death  from  such  a  fall  as  yours." 

"  Did  I  fall,  Joe?     Tell  me  about  it." 

"  That  I  won't,  sir,  for  you've  got  to  go  to  sleep.  The 
doctor  was  very  particular  that  you  shouldn't  be  allowed 
to  talk  or  move  until  he  came.  Now,  you  just  keep  still 
and  I'll  go  and  tell  Miss  Lilian  you  are  awake  and  want 
your  breakfast  in — let  me  see,  shall  we  say  twenty  minutes 
— just  when  the  clocks  begin  to  strike?  And  what  shall 
it  be — a  bit  of  steak  and  mushrooms,  or  toast  and  an  egg? 
All  right — but  you  must  sleep  now  and  hardly  move  a 
finger  until  I  come  back." 

Whether  Wilton  Kishu  could  move  was  a  question,  and 
Lampson  dwelt  upon  the  necessity  that  he  should  not, 
with  the  distinct  purpose  of  inducing  him  to  make  the  at 
tempt.  Stepping  softly  out  of  the  room  he  turned  and 
peered  cautiously  through  the  portiere.  The  sick  man 
remained  quiet  for  a  moment,  glanced  suspiciously  at  the 
curtain,  raised  first  one 'hand  and  then  the  other  to  his 
face,  turned  wearily  in  his  bed,  and  then  sank  off  into 
slumber. 

It  was  enough;  Wilton  Kishu  would  recover.  He 
might  never  again  be  as  strong  as  before,  but  he  would 
be  himself. 


508  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 


CHAPTER   XLVI. 


THE  weeks  that  followed  showed  the  world  to  Wilton 
Kishu  in  a  new  light.  The  clouds  which  had  seemed  so 
dark  and  lowering  with  evil  portent  proved  to  be  laden 
only  with  blessings.  Many  of  his  wealthy  associates,  the 
men  whose  approval  he  had  most  esteemed,  knowing 
something  of  the  peril  that  shrouded  his  financial  affairs, 
held  aloof,  not  from  any  lack  of  kindly  feeling  for  the 
stricken  man,  but  because  "  capital  is  always  sensitive," 
as  political  economists  phrase  the  cowardice  that  springs 
from  possession.  No  doubt  some  of  them  feared  they 
might  be  asked  to  assist  him  in  his  straits,  while  others 
may  have  shrunk  from  witnessing  the  grief  of  the  family. 
Many  such  sent  kindly  messages  during  the  days  of  ob 
livion,  but  by  the  time  consciousness  had  returned,  the 
rush  of  the  world  had  half-obliterated  memory  of  the 
sufferer. 

But  gratitude  and  personal  regard  are  stronger  than  the 
links  of  silver  and  gold  by  which  the  lords  of  Mammon 
are  bound  together.  All  the  acts  of  kindness  of  his  life, 
and  they  were  very  many,  seemed  to  bring  a  harvest  of 
good  cheer  to  the  tender-hearted  invalid.  The  poor 
whom  he  had  relieve \  crowded  his  portal  with  blessings; 
the  weak  whom  he  had  aided  came  with  grateful  words 
and  proffers  of  service.  It  was  wonderful  how  forgotten 
acts  of  benevolence  bore  fruit  in  loyal  remembrance. 


'TWfXT  DREAM  AND    WAKING. 


509 


He  was  amazed,  too,  at  the  sunlight  about  him.  There 
was  a  tenderness  in  his  wife's  ministrations,  a  joyousness 
in  his  daughter's  manner  which  he  could  not  understand. 
Lilian  had  wheedled  him  into  giving  her  leave  to  act  for 
him  in  his  business  while  he  waited  for  strength.  Frank 
Marsh  came  and  went  in  a  matter-of-course  way,  and  his 
cheerful  humor  whiled  away  many  an  hour  and  kept  from 
the  invalid's  mind  all  annoying  cares;  while  Lampson 
went  in  and  out  of  the  sick-room  as  if  the  responsibliity 
for  his  employer's  health  as  well  as  the  management  of 
the  business  had  suddenly  devolved  upon  him.  The  sick 
man  little  imagined  that  these  three,  with  the  assistance 
and  advice  of  others  whom  he  had  never  dreamed  of  mak 
ing  confidants  in  his  affairs,  had  kept  the  great  machine 
of  which  he  had  been  the  spring  and  center  in  operation 
so  well  that  the  world  had  hardly  realized  that  the  guid 
ing  brain  had  slept — a  soft,  sweet,  dreamless  sleep  from 
which  it  was  even  yet  but  half-awake.  When  he  made  his 
daughter  his  agent  he  but  confirmed  what  had  been  done. 
There  was  no  one  else  whom  even  in  his  weakened  condi 
tion  he  would  have  trusted,  but  she  was  his  daughter;  he 
recognized  his  own  powers,  his  own  qualities,  refined  and 
etherealized  in  her,  and  knew  that  he  could  trust  her  judg 
ment  as  he  had  always  trusted  her  intuition. 

All  who  came  near  him  were  so  cheerful,  too.  His  old 
friends  of  the  Golden  Lilies — Goodyear  and  Hodnutt  and 
Townley— the  friends  of  his  youth — he  did  not  know  be 
fore  how  much  he  loved  them.  It  is  curious  how  at  the 
end  of  life  we  go  back  for  love  to  those  who  were  with  us 
in  its  beginning.  However  much  we  may  gam  in  rank 
and  station — however  far  we  may  go  from  early  associa 
tions — the  heart  is  sure  to  turn  at  length  with  homely 
longing  to  its  early  environment.  And  these  men  had 


510  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

not  only  been  companions  of  his  youth  but  associates  of 
his  manhood.  They  had  run  the  race  of  life  with  him. 
True,  he  had  outstripped  them  all,  but  they  had  looked 
upon  his  success  without  envy,  even  glorying  not  a  little 
in  the  strength  of  their  old  friend.  It  was  very  sweet  to 
have  them  come  about  his  bedside  and  his  reclining  chair 
with  such  kindly  cheer. 

The  young  pastor  of  the  Golden  Lilies  came  too — as  if 
nothing  had  ever  happened  to  disturb  their  cordial  rela 
tions.  Mr.  Kishu  wondered  how  it  all  happened,  if  what 
seemed  like  remembrance  was  only  a  fevered  dream. 
How  kindly  the  Breeze  spoke  of  him,  too!  And  what 
cordial  relations  there  seemed  to  be  between  it  and  the 
Thunderbolt!  Why  should  there  not  be?  Searle  con 
trolled  the  Breeze  and  Frank  Marsh  had  become  the  in 
spiring  spirit  of  the  other — not  its  editor,  but  it  was  by 
this  time  known  to  all  but  Mr.  Kishu  himself  that  the 
brave,  boy-hearted  young  fellow  whom  even  the  mishaps 
of  unkindly  love  could  not  daunt,  would  marry  Lilian 
Kishu  and  probably  succeed  to  a  controlling  interest  in 
the  successful  journal. 

The  time  came  at  length  when  all  these  mysteries  were 
made  plain  to  the  slowly-convalescing  man.  Among  his 
visitors  one  day  was  Metziger.  The  great  lawyer  knew 
how  to  charm  as  well  as  to  coerce.  What  a  bracing  draught 
of  the  world-life  he  brought  into  the  library  where  the  in 
valid  sat!  After  all,  everybody  liked  Wilton  Kishu. 
Even  those  who  laughed  at  his  foibles  or  knew  most  of 
his  infirmities  recognized  instinctively  the  man  underneath 
them  all.  There  was  a  strange  attraction  about  his  sturdy 
nature  whose  influence  few  could  resist.  Even  what  he 
lacked  he  loved;  and  he  drew  about  him  men  of  the  most 
diverse  qualities  and  acquirements,  making  them  all  his 


TWIXT  DREAM  AA7D    WAKING.  511 

friends.  It  is  true  he  required  of  them  one  common  ele 
ment — success.  He  hated  failure;  he  might  pity  the 
man  who  failed,  but  the  fact  of  failure  was  unpleasant  to 
him.  Only  Deacon  Goodyear  had  been  able  to  overcome 
this  aversion,  and  if  he  had  failed  in  one  direction  he  had 
succeeded  in  another.  But  success  pleased  Wilton  Kishu ; 
he  almost  reverenced  it.  So  the  coming  of  the  busy  law 
yer  waked  him  out  of  the  long  torpor,  and  when  Metziger 
intimated  that  he  would  come  again  and  talk  of  business, 
Wilton  Kishu  surprised  himself  by  avowing  a  readiness  to 
proceed  with  the  matter  without  delay.  The  fate  which 
had  seemed  so  terrible  to  him  a  little  while  before,  ap 
peared  now  not  so  very  deplorable  a  fact,  after  all.  He 
would  still  have  enough  and  still  have  his  friends.  What 
more  need  he  desire? 

It  seemed  strange  to  him  that  he  had  ever  felt  other 
wise.  Yet  his  nature  was  essentially  the  same.  It  was 
merely  one  of  those  miracles  with  which  the  path  of  life 
is  so  thickly  strewn  that  we  hardly  wonder  at  them.  The 
finger  of  God  had  touched  some  hidden  spring;  the  phys 
ical  shock  had  produced  a  readjustment  of  temperamen 
tal  qualities  which  quite  changed  his  outlook  upon  life, 
and  the  resultant  was  a  modification  of  moral  qualities. 

Wilton  Kishu  was  unaware  of  any  change  in  his  relation 
to  Mr.  Metziger's  client,  but  he  did  not  dread  the  out 
come  of  the  controversy  as  he  had  done  before.  He 
wondered  at  it,  but  it  was  a  great  relief.  He  suggested 
that  the  presence  of  Mr.  Speedwell  might  be  necessary. 
Mr.  Metziger  thought  he  might  prefer  under  the  circum 
stances  to  dispense  with  that  gentleman's  services  except 
in  the  formal  part  of  the  settlement  proposed. 

"Settlement?"  Could  it  be  that  he  heard  aright.  He 
wondered  if  he  were  in  his  right  mind — or  if  he  had  been 


5i2  MURVALE  EASTMAN". 

in  that  shadowy  and  troublous  past  which  seemed  so  very 
far  away.  But  he  said  nothing. 

The  lawyer  explained  that  his  client  Underwood  was  so 
rejoiced  at  the  discovery  of  his  daughter,  and  so  satisfied 
that  her  preservation  alive  was  due  to  Mr.  Kishu's  coura 
geous  action  on  the  day  the  child  was  lost,  that  he  was 
not  only  willing  to  condone  all  that  had  occurred,  but  to 
withdraw  the  suits  he  had  begun  and  make  good  the  de 
fect  of  title  on  which  the  suits  of  the  occupants  against 
Mr.  Kishu  were  based.  This,  of  course,  on  condition 
that  the  title  of  the  Golden  Lilies  was  placed  beyond  dis 
pute. 

"  So  he  has  found  his  daughter?  " 

"Yes:  did  you  not  know?     She  is  Mrs.  Merton." 

"Mrs.  Merton!     Not  the— the " 

"Yes,"  laughingly,  "the  one  all  the  trouble  began 
about." 

With  this  statement  the  sagacious  lawyer  withdrew. 
The  experiment  he  had  been  selected  to  make  had  proved 
a  success.  Without  shock  or  apparent  peril  he  had 
switched  Wilton  Kishu  back  upon  the  track  he  had  been 
following  before  the  long  night  of  torpor  had  fallen  upon 
him.  The  half-dormant  brain  had,  though  still  feeble,  re 
sumed  its  normal  functions;  apprehension  was  removed; 
and  only  care  and  rest  were  needed  to  insure  complete 
recovery.  The  mist  was  not  all  dissipated,  but  the  awak 
ened  brain  could  be  trusted  to  find  the  light. 


THE  ALQE-BLOSSOM. 


CHAPTER   XLVII. 

THE   ALOE-BLOSSOM. 

Two  men  sat  on  the  wide  veranda  of  a  hotel  overlook 
ing  the  historic  roadstead  where  one  spring  day  the  fate 
of  a  nation,  perhaps  the  destiny  of  civilization,  was  deter 
mined  by  a  struggle  between  two  forms  of  a  new  engine 
of  war.  The  more  complete  of  these  engines  represented 
liberty;  the  less  complete  slavery.  God  was  on  the  side 
of  liberty  and  good  workmanship,  and  slavery  fell. 

The  battle  between  winter  and  summer  begins  early  in 
this  sheltered  haven  of  Hampton  Roads,  and  the  sun-god 
halts  a  long  time  here,  on  his  victorious  northward  march, 
to  dally  with  the  winds  and  waves.  As  soon  as  he  was 
deemed  able  to  travel,  Wilton  Kishu  was  ordered  hither 
to  recuperate.  He  had  gained  steadily  from  the  hour  he 
recovered  consciousness,  but  his  attack  had  been  one  of 
those  which  makes  caution  instinctive.  It  was  thought 
advisable  that  he  be  not  only  relieved  from  anxiety,  which 
had  been  done  by  his  conversation  with  the  lawyer,  but 
removed  for  a  time  from  familiar  scenes  and  everything 
that  might  tend  to  undue  excitement.  His  one  desire 
was  to  meet  his  former  adversary,  Underwood,  and  thank 
him  for  his  unexpected  lenity.  That  one  should  sur 
render  an  incontestable  title  to  such  a  magnificent  prop 
erty,  upon  terms  so  just  and  yet  so  self-respectful,  gave 
him  a  feeling  almost  of  reverence  for  the  man  whom  he 
had  once  so  cordially  hated.  Public  opinion  as  well  as 
33 


514  MURVALE  EA STMAN. 

the  law  would  have  fully  justified  Underwood  in  a  course 
which,  while  making  him  one  of  the  wealthiest  men  in 
the  city,  would  have  ruined  his  enemy.  True,  he  was  al 
ready  rich,  a  millionaire,  perhaps  twice  a  millionaire. 
Garden  Square  itself  was  worth  more  than  a  million ;  but 
the  Flat-iron  Tract,  with  its  palatial  improvements,  wouFd 
have  trebled  Underwood's  possessions. 

Wilton  Kishu  deemed  the  man  who  from  any  sense  of 
right  could  renounce  all  this,  worthy  of  his  highest  regard, 
and  was  all  the  readier  to  accept  the  proposed  exile  from 
the  city,  because  assured  that  he  would  meet  this  man,  to 
whom  he  felt  himself  under  such  supreme  obligation. 

Jonas  Underwood  lived  in  the  shadow  of  death.  For 
a  time  after  the  expulsion  of  the  foreign  substance  from 
his  lung,  it  had  seemed  as  if  he  were  about  to  recover 
from  the  disease  which  had  so  long  sapped  his  vital  forces. 
But  it  had  gone  too  far,  and  both  he  and  his  family  real 
ized  that  the  time  was  not  far  off  when  the  inevitable 
hemorrhage  would  come  to  close  his  earthly  career.  He 
had  perhaps  a  few  quiet  months  before  him,  but  the  ac 
tivity  his  restless  spirit  craved  was  denied  him.  He  could 
still  think,  but  even  this  his  physician  discouraged,  pre 
ferring  that  he  should  dream.  To  avoid  the  debilitating 
influences  of  the  far  South,  he  had  been  ordered  to  the 
refuge  in  the  placid  roadstead,  as  we  know,  before  Wilton 
Kishu's  illness. 

So  the  two  men  met.  Mr.  Kishu  forgot  the  fine 
speeches  he  had  intended  to  make,  and  gazed  with  some 
thing  like  wonder  at  the  broad  shoulders,  massive  head, 
full,  heavy  beard  and  thick,  dark  hair  which  told  of  un 
usual  vitality,  though  the  frequent  flushing  of  the  pallid 
cheek,  the  shrunken  hands  and  bowed  head  were  evidence 
of-coming  dissolution,  while  the  great  eyes,  blazing  under 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM.  515 

the  brows  with  the  light  of  unconquerable  purpose, 
showed  a  soul-force  yet  unabated.  Mr.  Kishu  did  not 
wonder  any  longer  at  what  had  been  done  by  this  man, 
who  seemed  capable  of  achieving  anything  he  might  un 
dertake.  What  he  did  wonder  was  why  he  himself  had 
been  a  success,  as  the  world  measures  success,  and  this 
man  a  failure — or  at  the  best  an  accident.  In  energy, 
purpose,  the  power  of  application  and  the  capacity  to  en 
dure,  he  saw  at  once  with  his  fine  perceptions  of  human  ' 
nature  that  this  man  was  his  superior.  Yet  he  had  suc 
ceeded,  while  the  other  had  faced  the  buffets  of  fortune 
all  his  life  long. 

Somehow  the  success  of  which  Wilton  Kishu  had  been 
so  proud  shrunk  amazingly  in  value  as  he  looked  into  this 
man's  eyes,  whose  indomitable  spirit  a  life-time  of  ill- 
fortune  could  not  tame;  whose  look  met  every  one  with 
a  quiet  consciousness  of  power  which  needed  not  to  be 
translated  into  speech.  He  had  expected  to  meet  a  mild,  \ 
meek  man,  such  as  the  saints  are  usually  depicted;  he  \ 
found  one  fit  to  sway  an  empire,  and  who  could  not  cringe 
or  fawn.  He  had  seen  many  great  men,  but  met  few  whose 
greatness  owed  nothing  to  the  accident  of  wealth  or  sta 
tion.  This  man  was  a  king  by  divine  right,  to  whom  crown 
or  purple  could  add  nothing.  He  wondered  that  he 
had  not  recognized  these  qualities  before,  forgetting  that 
He  who  moistened  the  eyes  of  the  blind  with  clay  had 
touched  his,  now,  with  adversity. 

With  the  curious  inconsistency  which  strong  natures  so 
often  exhibit,  these  two,  antipodal  in  qualities  and  experi 
ence,  became  at  once  almost  inseparable.  They  said 
nothing  of  the  past,  not  much  even  of  themselves;  but 
day  after  day  they  loitered  on  the  verandas,  sometimes 
walking  side  by  side,  sometimes  sitting  together  in  the 


516  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

sunshine;  sometimes  conversing,  but  more  often  silent, 
each  quite  content  so  long  as  the  other  were  near.  Mrs. 
Kishu  could  hardly  believe  that  the  gentle,  complaisant 
man  who  yielded  everything  to  the  low-voiced  stranger, 
could  be  the  positive,  masterful  husband  she  had  known. 
She  soon  tired  of  wondering  at  the  miracle,  however,  and, 
satisfied  that  it  was  beneficial  to  the  invalid,  was  careful 
not  to  interrupt  their  intercourse.  Mrs.  Underwood  wan 
dered  contentedly  about  with  a  dark-eyed  child  who  called 
her  Grandma;  and  Mrs.  Merton  and  Lilian,  as  directors- 
general  of  their  respective  parties,  rarely  lost  sight  of  the 
invalids. 

Mr.  Kishu  improved  rapidly,  and  Mr.  Underwood's 
pa]e  cheeks  were  tinged  with  a  glow  as  soft  as  the  spring 
sunsets.  Metziger  came  now  and  then  for  consultation. 
Eastman's  yacht  rode  quietly  at  anchor  in  the  roads, 
save  when  its  owner  sought  relief  from  his  multifarious 
duties  in  beating  up  into  the  wind's  teeth  or  flying  swiftly 
before  its  invisible  pursuit ;  for  he  had  been  making  up 
for  the  lost  vacation  of  the  summer  before  by  one  or  two 
days'  sail  in  each  week  during  the  spring,  and  very  natu 
rally  he  had  made  the  roadstead  where  the  two  family 
groups  were  staying  the  scene  of  his  recreation.  Mr. 
Kishu  was  to  remain — as  long  as  he  was  content.  The 
only  limit  set  to  his  stay  was  that  he  must  return  to  the 
city  for  his  daughter's  wedding  in  the  latter  part  of  May. 
Frank  Marsh  had  stipulated  for  this  when  he  took  the  city 
editorship  of  the  Thunderbolt,  of  which  he  was  to  be  man 
ager  when  the  bridal  trip  was  over.  Jonas  Underwood 
made  no  plans  for  his  own  future.  One  morning  he 
brought  out  a  roll  of  papers  which  he  placed  upon  the 
floor  beside  the  great  rocker  in  which  he  sat.  He 
looked  worn  and  jaded.  Wilton  Kishu  had  that  com- 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM. 


5*7 


placent  manner  and  air  of  rugged  physical  health  which 
so  often  accompany  recovery  from  mental  shock.  People 
said  the  sea  air  had  done  wonders  for  him. 

One  by  one  the  loiterers  on  the  sunlit  porch  dropped 
off  to  their  own  amusements  and  left  the  two  men  to 
themselves. 

"  I  want  to  show  you  something,"  said  Underwood 
hesitantly,  reaching  down  for  the  roll  of  papers  beside 
his  chair — "the  plans  of  a -building  I  think  of  putting  up. 
I've  got  more  money  than  a  man  can  have  any  use  for, 
and  I  thought  I  would  see  if  I  couldn't  invest  some  of  it 
where  it  would  add  to  the  general  stock  of  human  happi 
ness — make  an  attempt  at  least  to  better  some  social  con 
ditions." 

"  When  a  man  has  enough  to  live  on  comfortably,  all  he 
gathers  afterward  is  mere  bother,"  answered  Kishu  sen- 
tentiously.  "  All  the  enjoyment  one  gets  out  of  a  fortune 
is  the  getting  of  it — winning  the  game,  you  know.  But 
that's  a  good  deal,"  he  added  composedly. 

"  I  suppose  it  must  be  so,"  responded  Underwood.  "  I 
never  had  that  pleasure.  My  fortune  came  to  me  without 
exertion:  my  efforts  to  secure  one  were  always  unfortu 
nate.  So  I  have  to  get  my  enjoyment  out  of  spending  it." 

"  Well,  there's  a  good  deal  of  pleasure  in  that  if — if  one 
keeps  within  his  income;  a  man  ought  never  to  go  be 
yond  that."  This  had  been  the  philosophy  of  his  life. 

"  But  I  am  going  to  spend  the  principal — the  whole  of 
it,  too!" 

"  Make  an  investment,  you  mean — what  is  it?  " 

"  I  am  going  to  try  and  build  an  addition  to  other 
people's  homes." 

"  A  good  many  of  them  need  it,"  answered  the  great 
financier  thoughtfully. 


518  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

"That  is  what  I  think;  and  my  idea  is  just  this,  to  try 
and  bring  society  and  the  family  nearer  together.  It  will 
never  do,"  he  continued,  leaning  forward  and  laying  one 
hand  upon  the  knee  of  his  companion,  "  to  disturb  or  re 
strict  the  family.  That  is  the  ark  of  safety — the  sheet- 
anchor  of  true  progress — the  unit  of  all  healthful  society. 
And  I  believe  our  American  family,  with  its  freedom  from 
restraint,  which  allows  each  individual  member  to  order 
his  own  life  in  his  own  way  almost  as  soon  as  he  arrives 
at  years  of  discretion,  is  the  very  best  type  of  family.  It 
is  individuality  that  blesses  the  world,  not  uniformity. 
Our  boys  and  girls  are  not  like  those  of  other  countries; 
they  are  not  formed  on  a  specific  model;  they  have  more 
self-reliance  and  individuality,  and  these  are  what  count 
in  the  long  run,  always.  They  are  what  make  our  Ameri 
can  life  a  new  and  better  type  than  the  world  has  known 
before.  It  has  its  faults,  but  when  we  average  it  up  all 
round,  it  is  the  best,  thus  far.  Now,  there  is  no  use  in 
going  back  into  ancient  history  to  find  rules  and  hints  for 
its  betterment.  There  is  no  such  a  thing  as  a  fixed  and 
divine  social  order.  What  is  good  for  one  land  is  bad  for 
another;  and  what  fits  one  set  of  conditions  would  be 
fatal  to  all  progress  with  other  surroundings.  Society  is 
only  the  house  we  live  in,  the  hive  that  protects  and  shel 
ters  or  cramps  and  restricts  the  workers,  and  what  con 
stitutes  the  best  form  of  hive  depends  on  the  character  of 
the  workers.  The  one  that  fits  a  Russian,  a  Frenchman, 
or  an  Englishman  won't  do  for  an  American." 

"That's  a  fact,"  said  his  companion  with  emphatic  ap 
proval. 

"  Now,  there  isn't  a  doubt,  to  my  mind,  that  the  shell 
we've  been  wearing  has  come  to  pinch  us  in  a  good  many 
places ;  but  there  isn't  any  sense  in  throwing  it  away  or  try- 


THE   ALOE-BLOSSOM.  519 

ing  to  borrow  or  invent  a  new  one.  We  are  not  soldier 
crabs.  People  have  to  make  their  own  houses,  grow  up 
in  their  own  shells,  provide  their  o\vn  social  environment. 
If  they  try  to  adapt  themselves  to  others,  the  attempt 
weakens,  unmans,  and  destroys  what  is  best  in  them. 
If  you  force  a  social  shell  too  suddenly  on  a  people,  you 
destroy  their  individuality  and  make  them  mere  counter 
feits  of  something  they  can  never  really  become." 

"That  seems  reasonable — very  reasonable,  I  should 
say,"  Mr.  Kishu  responded,  evidently  thinking  he  was  re 
quired  to  say  something,  and  having  quite  lost  the  desire 
to  differ  with  any  one. 

"  Of  course ;  that  is  the  reason,  I  take  it,  why  some  of 
our  Anglo-Saxon  colonization  schemes  are  so  fatal  to  the 
peoples  among  whom  they  are  launched.  We  carry  our 
social  shell — our  manner  of  life — along  with  us,  and  insist 
on  fitting  it  to  all  other  lives;  and  the  life  that  will  not 
submit  to  it  we  destroy.  For  all  the  charity  it  boasts, 
our  English  civilization  has  been  a  more  destructive  force 
among  the  peoples  of  the  world  than  the  Mohammedan 
scimitar.  Of  course,  the  plea  has  been  all  the  time  that 
we  were  removing  a  worse  life  to  make  room  for  a  better 
one — destroying  barbarism  to  plant  in  its  place  civiliza 
tion.  But  has  civilization  any  right  to  destroy  the  barba 
rian  in  order  to  make  new  opportunity  for  the  civilized 
man?  Have  the  strong  a  right  to  destroy  the  weak,  the 
good  a  right  to  annihilate  the  bad?  Has  the  civilized 
child  of  God  a  right  to  impose  destructive  conditions 
upon  God's  less  favored  or  immature  children?  That  is 
the  question  of  to-day.  Yesterday,  nobody  doubted  it. 
It  was  admitted  to  be  the  duty  of  civilization  to  take  and 
hold  the  earth,  regardless  of  incumbrances.  We  offered 
to  barbarism  an  impossible  alternative.  We  said  to  the 


520  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

Indian,  the  Negro,  the  Sandwich  Islander,  to  the  weaker, 
dusky  peoples  of  all  the  lands  we  coveted:  "  Give  us  what 
we  desire;  become  civilized;  accept  our  forms  of  life 
and  government;  give  up  what  you  prize — or  we  will  kill 
you.  If  you  accept  our  terms,  you  must  furnish  a  market 
for  our  rum  and  opium  and  submit  to  our  lust  and  rapacity. 
If  you  cannot  stand  before  our  civilization  under  those 
conditions,  you  must  accept  it  as  the  will  of  God  that  you 
should  disappear  from  the  face' of  the  earth." 

"I  suppose  that  is  so,  Mr.  Underwood,  but  what  has 
that  got  to  do  with  the  plans  you  spoke  of?  There  aren't 
any  heathen  about  here." 

"  True  enough ;  but  the  philosophy  which  has  justified, 
defended,  and  exalted  Anglo-Saxon  civilization,  in  spite  of 
its  terrible  record  of  slaughter  and  destruction  of  the 
weak,  has  now  turned  itself  upon  our  own  life,  don't  you 
see?" 

"I— I  don't  believe.I  do— exactly " 

"What  we  call  'the  law  of  civilization'  has  been  that 
we  had  the  right  to  seize  the  lands,  destroy  the  govern 
ment  and  social  system  of  any  weaker  people  and  require 
them  to  adopt  ours — and  if  they  grew  restive  or  resisted, 
kill  them.  This  was  on  the  theory  that  an  uncivilized 
people  have  no  rights  a  civilized  people  are  bound  to  re 
spect,  or  in  other  words  that  strong  peoples  have  a  right 
not  only  to  control  weak  ones,  but  to  prescribe  what  is  best 
for  them  and  under  what  conditions  they  may  be  per 
mitted  to  live.  This  we  call  'the  immutable  law  of  prog 
ress.' 

"  We  know  that  such  a  philosophy  of  life  is  fit  only  for 
hell,  where  duty  does  not  exist  and  selfishness  is  the  la\v. 
It  has  colored  our  American  thought,  however,  and  made 
reason  almost  powerless  against  the  impulse  of  the  strong 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM.  521 

to  destroy  the  weak.  Of  ourse,  everybody  knows  that  the 
true  function  of  civilization  is  to  elevate^  not  to  destroy. 
The  function  of  Christianity  is  to  protect  the  weak,  not  to 
marshal  them  for  destruction  or  stand  idly  by  and  see 
them  annihilated. 

"  This  idea — that  the  strong  have,  somehow,  a  right  to 
control  the  weak — used  to  be  a  question  of  race,  national 
ity,  or  class,  but  now  it  is  a  question  of  individuals.  We 
think  a  rich  man  not  blamable  if  he  uses  his  power  so  as 
to  make  another  poor  and  weak  and  wretched,  so  long  as 
he  does  not  do  it  in  a  way  the  law  expressly  forbids." 

"Why  should  he  be  blamed?"  asked  the  other  in  sur 
prise. 

"  Because  he  is  unjust.  A  peasant  might  better  have 
contended  anciently  with  the  lord  of  the  manor  for  his 
rights,  than  for  a  man  of  small  means  to  compete  with  the 
possessor  of  millions  to-day.  As  a  result,  the  big  fish  are 
constantly  swallowing  the  little  ones,  and  are  themselves 
growing  greater  and  fewer.  All  forms  of  business  are  go 
ing  into  the  control  of  fewer  and  fewer  men.  The  small 
manufactory,  designed  to  supply  an  adjacent  region,  has 
almost  disappeared.  Of  self-employers,  the  proportion  is 
daily  growing  less ;  of  wage  laborers,  who  are  always  to 
some  degree  dependents,  the  proportion  is  rapidly  increas 
ing.  A  generation  ago  few  men  expected  to  be  wage- 
earners  for  life ;  now,  hardly  as  great  a  ratio  of  workers 
expect  to  become  anything  else." 

"  That  is  true — very  true,"  said  the  other  with  a  child 
ish  eagerness,  which  showed  awakening  interest  in  the 
subject. 

"This  tendency  works  both  ways,"  said  Underwood 
huskily,  for  his  interest  and  his  effort  began  to  tell  on 
him.  "  Not  only  are  there  proportionably  fewer  of  the 


$22  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

employing,  directing,  controlling  class  each  year,  and 
more  and  more  of  the  employed  and  dependent  class,  but 
the  competition  is  growing  sharper  and  opportunity  rarer, 
especially  in  the  higher  walks  of  labor,  and  the  more  in 
telligent  are  being  forced  gradually  but  surely  down  into 
the  class  of  routine  laborers.  The  son  of  the  man  who  is 
a  cashier  will  be  a  clerk,  and  his  son  a  porter.  A  gener 
ation  ago,  few  men  fell  below  the  level  on  which  they  be 
gan  life;  to-day  the  tendency  is  largely  the  other  way. 
The  burdens  of  life  have  grown  heavier  and  its  oppor 
tunities  more  restricted.  What  were  luxuries  then  have 
become  necessities  now.  The  workman  is  crowded  into 
the  city.  The  home  has  shrunk  in  dimensions  and  in 
creased  in  cost.  Distance  means  expense.  The  struggle 
for  life  brings  isolation  or  loss  of  self-respect.  The  chil 
dren  of  the  man  who  a  generation  ago  grew  up  self-reliant 
and  ambitious,  esteeming  himself  the  peer  of  the  best,  are 
content  now  if  they  keep  away  want  and  escape  the  bur 
dens  of  society." 

"  True — too  true ;  but  what — what  are  you  going  to  do 
about  it?  Found  a  hospital?"  He  touched  the  roll  of 
drawings  the  other  held  as  he  spoke. 

"A  hospital?  Well,  yes — a  hospital  for  sick  families. 
I'll  tell  you,  Mr.  Kishu,  I  want  to  do  something  that  will 
help  improve  present  conditions  if  it  is  only  by  way  of  ex 
ample,  and  that  cannot  possibly  do  harm." 

"  Those  are  very  hard  conditions,"  said  the  other  doubt 
fully. 

"  They  are ;  but  I  believe  what  Mr.  Eastman  says,  that 
Christian  Socialism  is  merely  an  extension  of  Christian 
individualism,  that  the  world  is  made  better  not  merely 
by  collective  effort,  but  by  the  stimulation  of  individual 
endeavor.  One  of  the  difficult  problems  of  our  time,  as 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM. 


523 


it  seems  to  me,  is  to  find  some  practical  substitute  for 
the  old  relation  of  neighborship.  It  did  not  mean  mere 
vicinity;  it  was  a  willingness  to  aid — arising  not  merely 
from  kindness,  but  from  a  recognized  mutuality  of  rela 
tion.  To-day,  there  is  no  neighborhood  nor  neighborship. 
There  may  be  friends,  cronies,  partners,  but  there  are  no 
neighbors." 

"  And  never  will  be  again,"  with  a  sigh. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  I  am  going  to  make  my  contribution 
to  Christian  Socialism  an  effort  toward  providing  a  substi 
tute  for  it." 

The  other  shook  his  head  hopelessly. 

"  Well,"  said  Underwood,  stroking  his  beard  and  with 
something  of  tremulousness  in  his  voice,  "  it  may  be  a 
failure,  but  I  am  going  to  try.  What  is  the  first  element 
of  neighborship?  Evidently,  frequent  but  not  enforced 
friendly  meetings,  growing  and  ripening  sometimes  into 
friendship,  at  other  times  remaining  mere  casual  acquaint 
ance,  according  to  mutual  inclination.  What  are  the  ob 
stacles  to  the  growth  of  neighborship,  in  a  great  city? 
The  lack  of  opportunity  for  such  meetings  and  their  nat 
ural  ripening  into  friendship.  Entertainment  is  a  serious 
matter  to  people  of  moderate  means.  House-room,  serv 
ice,  equipment,  are  all  burdens  heavy  to  be  borne.  The 
space  that  would  serve  the  family  must  be  doubled  for 
society;  and  one  night's  entertainment  means  the  invest 
ment  of  a  year's  income  in  what  is  otherwise  almost 
needless  and  unused.  But  entertainment  is  all  there  is 
left  of  society. 

"  The  rich  have  tried  to  solve  the  problem  by  the  club 
and  restaurant.  .What  I  propose  to  do  is  to  build  a  club 
house,  not  for  the  poor  exactly,  but  for  those  who  wish  a 
common  meeting-ground  at  moderate  expense,  a  place 


524  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

where  they  can  come  to  spend  an  hour  or  an  evening; 
where  one  can  give  a  family  dinner,  an  evening  party,  or 
a  social  entertainment  of  any  sort,  without  overtaxing  his 
ability." 

"You  would  admit  both  men  and  women,  then?" 
"Men,  women,  and  children — families,  sir.     Why  not? 
You  have  families  in  a  neighborhood;  why  not  families  in 
a  club?" 

"  I  don't  know/' 

"  There  is  no  reason.  This  now  is  my  plan,  or  rather 
the  architect's  plan,  for  housing  my  idea,  though  I  must 
confess  that  a  good  deal  of  it  is  due  to  Mr.  Lampson. 
He  seems  to  understand  it  better  than  I,  and  has  sug 
gested  things  I  never  thought  of.  I  want  him  to  have 
the  management  of  it — its  general  direction  I  mean — 
when  it  is  under  way,  and  I  want  you  to  help  me  get  it 
started,  Mr.  Kishu.  I'm  feeling  pretty  w'ell  now,  and 
folks  think  I've  plenty  of  time  before  me,  but  I  know  I 
haven't.  I  shall  drop  off  suddenly  when  I  go;  and  it 
won't  be  a  very  great  while  before  the  time  comes." 

"But  you  know — I — I  am  not  very  strong  myself," 
said  Kishu  wistfully. 

"  I  know  that,  but  you'll  outlast  me  by  years." 
Mr.  Kishu  shook  his  head  doubtfully. 
"  Well,  here's  the  plan."  Underwood  unwound  the  roll 
and  laid  it  open  on  their  knees.  "  Here,  you  see,  this 
large  room  is  a  common  meeting-room — books,  papers, 
writing-desks,  flowers,  a  public  parlor  arranged  for  semi- 
privacy  in  groups.  No  speeches,  entertainments,  music, 
or  anything  of  a  public  character  here,  unless  now  and 
then  a  public  reception.  The  members  come  and  go, 
and  talk  or  simply  wait  for  each  other.  On  the  other 
floors  are  dining-rooms,  parlors,  a  gymnasium,  and  at  the 
very  top  a  play-room  and  a  nursery." 


THE   ALOE-BLOSSOM. 


525 


"  Play-room  and  nursery?'' 

"  Certainly.  Did  I  not  say  it  was  a  family  club?  You 
wouldn't  leave  the  mothers  and  children  out,  would  you? 
One  of  the  most  pitiable  phases  of  city  life  is  the  young 
mother  who  cannot  afford  a  nurse.  She  is  barred  of  all 
society,  perhaps  for  years,  by  the  duties  of  maternity. 
One  of  the  very  things  I  had  in  view  was  to  provide  a 
place  where  she  may  leave  her  child  contentedly,  go  out 
and  do  a  bit  of  shopping,  or  make  a  few  calls,  come  back 
and  have  a  lunch  with  a  friend  perhaps,  and  then  go 
home  and  get  supper  for  her  husband,  meeting  him  fresh 
and  restful  after  his  day's  work." 

"You  would  have  a  restaurant,  of  course?  " 

"  At  this  end,"  said  Underwood,  moving  his  finger  along 
the  draft. 

"What  will  it  furnish?" 

"  I  leave  that  mainly  to  experience  to  decide.  Cer 
tainly  nothing  that  will  harm.  I  should  say  plain  food 
of  the  best  quality  at  the  nearest  possible  approach  to 
cost.  Remember,  the  whole  thing  is  intended  to  supply 
needs  and  not  to  invite  patronage  or  tempt  indulgence." 

"  It  would  provide  dinners  and  suppers,  I  suppose,  for 
parties  who  might  wish  to  entertain  friends?  " 

"  Of  course,  but  restricted  as  to  cost.  It  must  not 
tempt  to  luxury  and  must  provide  nothing  that  a  man  of 
moderate  means  may  not  feel  able  to  enjoy." 

"  Do  you  think  that  would  be  satisfactory?  " 

"I  don't  know:  my  idea  is  to  make  an  annex  of  the 
home — to  provide  opportunity  for  association,  not  to 
cheapen  luxury  or  invite  dissipation.  I  would  have  every 
member  feel  as  free  from  oppressive  obligation  to  minis 
ter  to  the  physical  enjoyments  of  others  as  if  in  his  own 
home." 


526  M  UK  VALE   EASTMAN. 

"  And  who  will  be  members?" 

"  Those  whom  the  Board  of  Managers  see  fit  to  admit, 
under  such  conditions  and  on  such  terms  as  they  may  pro 
vide." 

"  It  is  not  intended  to  be  gratuitous,  then?" 

"  Certainly  not :  it  is  designed  to  cultivate  independ 
ence  and  self-respect,  not  to  destroy  them." 

"I  see — I  see:  and  the  smaller  rooms?"  Mr.  Kishu's 
interest  was  increasing. 

"  These  are  to  be  let  to  members,  for  any  social  pur 
pose  that  may  be  desired.  A  family  or  group  of  families 
may  rent  one  for  a  day,  a  week,  a  year,  or  one  day  in  a 
week  or  a  month.  This  leaves  every  one  at  liberty  to 
select  his  own  company  and  arrange  his  own  entertain 
ment,  but  gives  his  family  for  a  mere  trifle  the  enjoyment 
of  comforts  that  it  would  take  half  his  income,  perhaps, 
to  secure  otherwise.  It  would  enable  a  car-driver  to  give 
a.  family  party  with  comfortable  and  refined  surroundings, 
which  in  his  own  home  would  require  an  income  of  thou 
sands/' 

"  It  seems  feasible  if — if  the  right  sort  of  people  take 
hold  of  it !  " 

"  Metziger  says  five  hundred  families  of  moderate  means 
but  of  the  best  character  and  of  high  intelligence  will 
have  their  names  on  the  roll  before  the  first  story  is  com 
plete." 

"  It  is  to  be  a  sort  of  annex  to  the  League,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  It  is  an  individual  attempt,  not  to  establish 
a  new  form  of  society,  but  to  improve  the  conditions  of  a 
specific  social  group." 

"Suppose  it  should  fail?" 

"The  managers  will  have  authority  to  apply  it  or  its 
income  to  some  similar  purpose.  It  will  always  yield  a 
good  revenue." 

•  »       -       v 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM.  $2? 

"Where  do  you  propose  to  put  it?  " 

"  On  the  end  of  Garden  Square — next  to  the  church." 

"  It  will  spoil  the  park,"  said  Kishu  regretfully.  The 
park  had  always  been  to  him  the  setting  of  the  Church  of 
the  Golden  Lilies. 

"  So  far  as  my  ancestor's  purpose  is  concerned,  it  was 
spoiled  long  ago,  and  I  am  not  at  all  sure  that  such  a 
limited  space  is  of  much  value  as  a  park,  at  the  best.  It 
is  too  small  to  accommodate  aril,  and  the  least  deserving 
are  apt  to  monopolize  it." 

"  Have  you  chosen  a  name  for  it?  " 

«  Yes— the  Valentine  Social  Club." 

"After  your  grandfather?  " 

"  Of  course ;  he  is  the  real  donor.  I  am  only  acting  as 
his  agent.  I  would  like  D  X  V  to  be  carved  upon  the 
keystone  above  the  main  entrance.  But  for  that,  you 
know,  I  should  never  have  been  able  to  do  this." 

"  I  see,"  said  Mr.  Kishu,  flushing  slightly.  "  It  will  take 
a  good  deal  of  money  upon  the  scale  it  has  been  planned." 

"It  is  to  be  made  plain,  you  know — just  brick  and 
iron ;  for  service,  not  for  ornament." 

"  True,  but  it  is  a  very  large  building."  He  was  scrutin 
izing  the  plan  as  he  spoke. 

"  I  guess  there  will  be  enough  over  and  above  what 
Hannah  and  I  will  require,"  said  Underwood  with  a 
quiet  smile. 

"  But  your — your  daughter?  " 

Mr.  Kishu  spoke  with  evident  embarrassment. 

"  She  has  enough.  Besides,  we  thought  that — perhaps 
— well,  if  we  gave  it  to  her  it  might  make  public  some 
things  which  may  as  well  not  be  talked  about." 

"  You  mean "  anxiously. 

"  It  doesn't  matter  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Kishu.     It's  all 


528  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

over,  and  the  past  is  buried.  You  will  never  hear  any 
more  about  it  if  I  can  prevent." 

Mr.  Kishu  stretched  out  his  hand  and  Underwood 
grasped  it  cordially. 

"  You  see,  I  want  you  to  be  one  of  the  trustees,"  he 
made  haste  to  say,  noting  the  other's  emotion. 

"  I'll  do  it,"  said  the  other  with  enthusiasm,  "  and  I'll 
make  it  a  success  if  it  can  be  done!  " 

"  I  know  you  will ;  I  only  want  you  to  keep  in  mind 
three  things  which  I  wish  the  experiment  to  prove:  First, 
that  social  co-operation  is  practicable  without  interfering 
with  the  family ;  second,  that  it  is  possible  to  counteract, 
in  some  degree  at  least,  the  unhealthful  social  tendencies 
of  city  life ;  and,  third,  that  such  a  substitute  for  neigh 
borship  is  a  distinct  economic  as  well  as  moral  and  social 
advantage.  If  this  succeeds,  others  will  enlarge  and  per 
fect  the  idea." 

"  You  do  not  seem  to  realize  how  much  you  are  giving 
away." 

"  I  don't  suppose  I  do,"  answered  Underwood.  "  I 
think  this  is  why  God  gave  me  control  of  money  when  I 
was  beyond  the  reach  of  temptation  to  needless  accu 
mulation.  Perhaps,  too,  this  was  why  he  let  me  see  how 
grievous  life  may  become,  without  actual  want,  in  the  face 
of  conditions  which  mean  constant  humiliation  and  in 
evitable  lessening  of  self-respect.  I  am  no  better  than  I 
was  a  year  ago,  yet  those  who  would  have  regarded  me 
with  indifference  then,  treat  me  now  with  deference.  This 
is  a  wrong  to  every  man  who  stands  where  I  then  did.  It 
is  the  result  of  a  relaxed  sense  of  neighborship  as  well  as 
an  unreasoning  worship  of  wealth.  I  cannot  change  that 
feature  of  our  life — it  has  become  an  inherited  defect; 
but  perhaps  I  can  show  some  of  those  who  stand  where  I 


THE  ALOE- BLOSSOM.  529 

did  how  these  evils  may  be  in  part  avoided,  and  one 
thing  will  lead  to  another,  until  men  may  grow  ashamed 
to  heap  up  gains  merely  for  the  sake  of  acquiring,  and 
more  than  enough  may  grow  to  be  as  great  a  reproach  as 
a  lack  of  sufficiency  now  is.  Then  men  will  not  be 
tempted  to  rob  and  steal  and  starve  their  fellows  in  order 
to  be  esteemed  their  superiors." 

"  But  I — I — "  stammered  Mr.  Kishu,  turning  pale — "  I 
did  not " 

"  I  was  not  thinking  of  you,"  answered  Underwood  in 
some  confusion. 

"But  I  was  thinking,"  said  Mr.. Kishu,  with  something 
of  his  old  readiness  in  avoiding  what  was  unpleasant,  "  that 
perhaps  I  might  find  some  way  to  help  undo  the  wrong  I 
have  done." 

"Not  the  wrong  you  have  done,  but  the  evils  of  that 
social  system  which  tempts  all  men  to  do  harm  to  others 
rather  than  good,  as  a  condition  of  popular  approval.  I 
do  not  doubt  but  you  will  find  ways  enough  to  help  undo 
this  evil.  The  tendency  of  society  hitherto  has  been  cen 
tripetal;  we  must  make  the  popular  impulse  centrifugal. 
Diffusion,  not  concentration,  must  be  the  watchword. 
We  must  encourage  small  producers.  Advantage  must 
be  joint,  rather  than  several.  Self-employment  must  be 
the  aim.  The  laborer  must  become  a  part-proprietor;  as 
fast  as  he  does,  the  conflict  betwixt  labor  and  capital  dis 
appears,  while  enterprise  is  not  checked  but  fostered. 
Every  man  is  stimulated  to  do  his  utmost.  Instead  of  a 
business  making  one  man  rich,  it  will  cause  many  to  be 
comfortable  and  independent.  It  makes  competency  the 
desire  of  all  instead  of  wealth  the  aim  of  the  few.  It  is  a 
mistake  to  think  rich  men  are  necessary  to  great  enter 
prises.  A  hundred  men  having  ten  thousand  dollars 
34 


$30  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

apiece  can  do  more  than  one  man  with  a  million,  if  they 
are  workers,  and  work  together.  Why?  Because  there 
are  a  hundred  pair  of  eyes  to  watch  for  leaks  and  waste. 
It  is  this  which  we  must  strive  for,  not  as  an  end  but  as 
a  means — the  diffusion  of  interests  with  combination  of 
action.  For  myself,  I  hate  the  mere  laborer — the  man  of 
wages  who  expects  and  desires  nothing  else.  He  is  a 
symptom  of  disease — better  than  a  slave,  but  the  lowest 
type  of  a  freeman.  You  know  what  Townley  is  doing?" 

Mr.  Kishu  shook  his  head. 

"  It  is  altogether  a  new  idea.  He  studied  it  out  him 
self  and  began  operations  without  telling  any  one  what  he 
intended  to  do." 

"That's  business,"  said  Kishu  approvingly;  "and  it's 
Townley,  too,  all  over.  He's  one  of  the  worst  men  to 
tackle  in  the  whole  country,  but  straight  as  a  ramrod  and 
true  as  a  die." 

"  Well,  he  has  devoted  himself  and  his  fortune — I  sup 
pose  he  has  three  or  four  million " 

"  Nearer  four  than  five." 

"  Whatever  it  may  be,  he  has  devoted  it  and  himself  to 
promoting  profit-sharing.  How  does  he  do  it?  In  pretty 
much  every  way,  I  think.  He  says  it  has  to  be  applied  in 
a  different  way  to  different  occupations.  He  has  made 
his  big  carpet  manufactory  a  profit-sharing  establishment, 
and  has  now  arranged  to  sell  it  out  and  out  to  the  em 
ploye's.  It  is  a  very  elaborate  scheme ;  he  and  Metzige 
worked  it  out.  It  is  so  arranged  that  nobody  can  get 
hold  of  the  stock  except  employe's,  and  no  one  of  them 
can  get  more  than  ten  thousand  dollars.  When  one  dies 
or  goes  out  of  the  works,  the  company  or  some  other  em 
ploye"  takes  his  share,  paying  an  assessed  valuation.  I 
can't  tell  you  the  details,  but  Townley  says  the  result  will 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM. 


53* 


be  that  inside  of  twenty  years  the  whole  establishment 
will  belong  to  the  people  who  work  "in  it;  there  will  be 
three  or  four  hundred  proprietors  instead  of  one,  and  only 
a  hundred  or  two  simple  employe's  instead  of  four  or  five 
hundred." 

"That  looks  practical  and  fair,"  said  Kishu  interestedly. 

"  He  don't  stop  there,"  continued  Underwood.  "  He 
takes  his  capital  and  goes  at  it  to  induce  others  to  adopt 
the  same  plan.  He  finds  a  man  who  is  willing  to  sell 
his  business  at  a  fair  appraisal  and  then  gets  the  workmen 
to  form  an  association  and  buy,  he  advancing  what  capital 
may  be  required  to  start  the  enterprise.  Of  course  he  re 
quires  frequent  reports  and  maintains  a  constant  super 
vision  until  he  gets  his  money  out  of  it,  and  that  pretty 
much  insures  success.  He  says  if  he  lives  ten  years 
longer  he  is  going  to  kill  ten  thousand  wage-workers  and 
create  ten  thousand  working-proprietors." 

"  I'll  bet  he'll  do  it,  too,"  said  Kishu  enthusiastically. 
"  Ezekiel  Townley  is  a  hard  man  to  head  when  he  gets  set 
on  a  thing,  and  there's  no  reason  why  a  man  with  his 
capital  should  not  do  exactly  what  he  has  undertaken.7' 

"  He  has  established  a  new  business,  too.  He  made 
Weldon,  who  lost  his  place  by  becoming  a  member  of  the 
League,  his  inspector  of  accounts,  and  the  result  is  that 
he  has  formed  a  bureau  of  supervision  of  accounts,  which 
is  in  itself  a  profit-sharing  association,  that  makes  regular 
inspections  of  accounts  for  business  houses.  They  are 
likely  to  make  a  right  good  thing  of  it,  I  hear.  I  have  al 
ways  wondered  why  profit-sharing  was  not  applied  to  mer 
cantile  agencies  and  all  such  forms  of  business  where  in 
telligence  and  character  are  the  greatest  share  of  the 
capital  invested." 

"  Hodnutt  has  gone  into  something  of  the  kind,  hasn't 
he?" 


532 


MUR  VALE  EASTMA \'. 


11  Yes ;  he  has  started  a  profit-sharing  Employment  As 
sociation.  I  don't  know  exactly  how  it  works;  but  it  is 
on  a  plan  of  Deacon  Goodyear's." 

"  It's  bound  to  be  a  good  one,  then." 

"  Of  course ;  and  he  and  Hodnutt  are  working  it. 
They  receive  applications,  make  examinations  of  char 
acter,  fitness,  and  capacity,  and  find  places  for  all  sorts  of 
people  who  are  either  too  poor  or  have  not  the  tact  to 
find  or  make  places  for  themselves.  It  is  a  queer  sort  of  a 
thing,  as  I  understand  it.  Hodnutt  furnishes  the  money, 
pays  the  employes,  and  decides  everything.  The  one 
seeking  employment  agrees  that  a  certain  percentage  of 
his  wages  for  a  specific  time  shall  be  paid  to  the  Associa 
tion,  and  the  employer  agrees  to  pay  it.  Sometimes  they  ar 
range  partnerships  and  find  opportunities  for  men  of  small 
capital  or  those  who  wish  to  invest  in  small  enterprises  or 
start  profit-sharing  establishments.  For  this  they  re 
ceive  fees  which  are  agreed  on.  They  employ  a  lawyer, 
and  do  everything  not  only  ship-shape  but  above-board, 
so  that  every  one  has  confidence  in  them." 

"  I  should  think  they  might,  with  two  such  men  as  Hod 
nutt  and  Goodyear  in  it ;  but  what  do  you  mean  by  mak 
ing  it  profit-sharing?" 

"  That  puzzled  me,  too,  but  it  seems  they  found  a  way. 
Hodnutt  said  he  would  have  nothing  to  do  with  such  a 
matter  unless  it  was  a  money-making  concern.  So  every 
body  engaged  in  it  has  a  salary.  These  and  all  expenses 
are  paid  in  cash,  Hodnutt  advancing  enough  to  do  that. 
At  the  end  of  the  year  it  pays  interest  on  the  advance 
ment,  ten  per  cent,  to  a  reserve  fund,  and  divides  half  the 
balance  between  its  own  employes  and  the  other  half 
among  those  for  whom  it  has  found  places,  in  the  propor 
tion  pf  each  one's  contribution." 


THE   ALOE-BLOSSOM.  533 

"But  suppose  there  is  a  loss?"  interposed  Kishu  cau 
tiously. 

"  Hodnutt  said  he  was  willing  to  back  it  for  a  year  or 
two — long  enough  to  give  it  a  fair  trial,  you  know.  He 
thought  it  ought  to  become  self-supporting  in  ten  years, 
but  he  tells  me  now  that  he  thinks  the  reserve  fund  will 
pay  it  out  in  five  years  and  the  whole  thing  will  belong  to 
those  who  operate  it." 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  the  other  shrewdly,  "  that  the 
rich  people  are  expected  to  carry  the  big  end  of  the  log 
in  everything  these  Christian  Socialists  propose,  after  all." 

"  Hardly  in  this  case.  Hodnutt's  shrewdness,  Good- 
year's  character,  Metziger's  ability  as  consulting  counsel, 
and  the  labor  of  all  its  employes  represent  a  much  greater 
element  of  success  than  the  money  advanced.  But  sup 
pose  it  were  true,  why  should  not  that  be  so?  Why 
should  not  the  rich  provide  the  material  element  for  the 
improvement  of  general  conditions?  Individual  surplus 
has  always  been  the  material  foundation  of  progress. 
Government  rests  on  taxation.  Schools  and  churches  re 
quire  money.  All  of  the  material  support  of  such  agencies 
of  progress  is  derived  from  somebody's  surplus.  Some 
times  it  is  voluntarily  given;  sometimes  involuntarily. 
When  voluntarily  obtained,  it  represents  the  impulse  of 
the  possessor;  when  involuntarily  bestowed,  the  popular 
impulse.  We  say  the  rich  support  these  things.  It  is  a 
mistake.  The  quarter  of  a  million  people  who  own  one- 
half  the  wealth  of  the  United  States  do  not  pay  half  the 
taxation  nor  furnish  half  the  support  for  its  schools  and 
churches. 

"  But  let  that  pass.  Why  should  not  the  rich  do  more 
good  than  others?  They  are  stronger:  they  are  not  weighed 
down  with  care  for  to-morrow ;  why  should  they  not  use 


534  MURVALE  RASTMAX. 

their  surplus  power  as  well  as  their  surplus  wealth  to  pro 
mote  the  general  welfare?  " 

"I  never  thought  of  that,"  said   Kishu  meditatively. 

"  Hitherto  they  have  built  schools  and  churches  and 
hospitals,  generally  by  bequest.  What  is  needed  now  is 
not  so  much  education  as  exemplification.  The  philan 
thropist  of  the  next  century  will  not  be  the  man  who 
hoards  during  a  life-time  to  endow  a  charitable  use  after 
he  is  dead.  Such  a  man  will  be  either  despised  or  pitied 
as  a  man  who  knew  his  duty  but  shirked  it.  The  man 
who  will  be  counted  worthy  of  remembrance  will  be  the 
one  who  puts  his  brain  and  his  conscience  into  his  ac 
cumulations,  and  makes  them  living  forces  for  the  wel 
fare,  not  of  himself  alone,  but  of  those  who  share  with  him 
the  toils  of  production.  Christian  Socialism  simply  ex 
pects  a  man  to  use  his  surplus — not  what  is  required  to 
secure  comfort  and  abundance  for  himself  and  his  family, 
but  the  surplus  of  power  and  capacity — to  promote  the 
general  welfare  and  prosperity  of  which  his  descendants 
will  be  joint  heirs  with  all  his  fellows." 

"What  do  you  think  there  is  for  me  to  do?"  asked 
Kishu,  after  a  moment's  silence. 

"  That  every  one  must  find  out  for  himself." 

"The  League  does  not  expect  to  compel  acceptance  of 
its  ideas,  then?" 

"  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  compulsion  in  all  so 
ciety.  Free  schools,  public  asylums  and  the  like,  are  alt 
instances  of  compulsory  maintenance  of  ameliorating 
agencies.  But  they  are  the  result  of  a  general  impulse, 
and  until  such  general  impulse  is  established  all  progress 
toward  the  betterment  of  general  conditions  must  be  by 
voluntary  individual  effort.  The  better  part  of  progress 
is  voluntary  and  individual,  anyhow.  It  is  when  men 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM.,  53^ 

come  to  rely  on  inert  organic  agencies  for  good  that  evil 
becomes  oppressive." 

"I  see:  and  I  think  I  should  like  to  take  part  in  that. 
I  should  like  to  establish  some  great  economic  agency 
which  would  have  to  fight  its  way  to  success,  but  would 
keep  on  blessing  those  who  need  help  for  generations." 
"Why  don't  you  talk  with  Dr.  Phue?" 
"  Has  he  got  a  notion  of  doing  something,  too?  " 
"  Oh,  bless  yon,  yes.  The  dear  old  saint  seems  to  think 
his  life  has  been  about  as  unprofitably  spent  as  I  do 
mine,  and  now  he  has  hardly  time  to  talk  about  the  plan 
of  salvation.  He  says  he's  too  busy  working  it  out  to 
think  about  its  details.  His  mind  is  so  full  of  the  idea 
of  the  Lord  being  a  present  help  that  he  has  gone  into  that 
low  life  down  around  the  old  church,  and  he  is  gathering 
pennies  and  storing  up  prayers  in  the  hope  of  getting 
back  the  old  building,  and  establishing  there  a  sort  of 
home-annex  similar  to  the  one  I  have  outlined,  only,  of 
course,  the  charitable  element  will  enter  into  it  to  some 
extent.  It's  a  hard  job,  but  he  seems  to  think  he  will 
succeed.  You  might  help  him." 

"  Of  course,"  answered  Kishu  frankly,  "  I'll  help  him — 
that  is,  I  will  give  something  toward  it ;  but  I  can't  do 
much  in  such  a  work — I'm  not  suited  to  it.  That's  where 
you  ought  to  put  Lampson.  He'll  keep  your  club  in  hot 
water.  He's  not  an  easy  man  to  get  on  with,  and  the 
manager  of  such  a  club  must  not  have  nerves  too  near  the 
surface.  But  he  and  Dr.  Phue  would  hit  it  off  nicely, 
and  he  has  a  way  of  getting  hold  of  such  people  as  he 
would  meet  there  which  is  truly  wonderful." 

"I  had  not  thought  of  that;  perhaps  you  are  right." 
"  I  am  sure  I  am.     Better  let  him  go  there,  and  Searle 
and   I  will  pick  out  somebody  for  the  other   place,     I 


536  MURVALE   EASTMAN. 

think  he's  got  the  very  man  in  his  office — one  who 
has  been  doing  newspaper  work  for  twenty  years  and 
never  had  a  quarrel  with  anybody.  That's  the  kind  of 
man  you  want — steady,  methodical,  and  a  gentleman, 
with  a  temper  that  doesn't  lash  itself  into  foam  with  every 
breath  of  irritation." 

"Well,  you  know  what's  needed,"  said  Underwood, 
with  a  sigh  of  relief. 

"  Yes ;  I  know  what  others  can  do  and  what  I  can  do 
myself.  I'd  like  to  do  something  that  would  please  you 
and  be  a  credit  to  me.  Haven't  you  some  idea  that  can 
be  worked  up  to  meet  those  conditions?  I  never  was 
good  at  finding  things:  I've  nearly  always  utilized  others' 
ideas! " 

"  Mr.  Eastman  has  a  plan,"  answered  Underwood, 
"which  he  says  is  just  waiting  for  some  man  with  nerve 
and  brain  and  money  enough  to  carry  into  effect." 

"What  is  that?" 

"  Well,  he  says  that  these  great  establishments  which 
include  all  sorts  of  traffic  and  control  a  whole  army  of  de 
pendents  are  Gibraltars  of  harmful  tendency.  They  are, 
he  maintains,  destroying  the  small  tradesmen  and  the 
small  manufacturer  and  making  the  manual  laborer  an 
absolute  dependent.  He  insists  that  the  profits  of  such 
enterprises  ought  not  to  go  to  one  alone,  but  to  many; 
that  the  small  manufacturer  ought  to  have  an  equal 
chance  in  the  market  with  the  large  one,  and  that  the 
hand-laborer  ought  not  to  be  compelled  to  become  a  de 
pendent  in  order  to  find  a  market  for  his  wares.  He  says 
the  difficulty  does  not  lie  in  concentration  or  organization, 
but  in  such  organization  being  controlled  for  one  man's 
advantage." 

"  He  thinks  the  salesman  and  worker  should  be  part 
owners?" 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM.  537 

"  He  insists  that  the  greatest  profit  does  not  lie  in  con 
centration  of  ownership,  but  in  its  diffusion,  because  a 
man  working  for  himself  will  be  more  careful,  more  in 
dustrious,  and  less  wasteful  than  the  mere  laborer." 

"  There  is  no  doubt  of  that." 

"  So  he  thinks  the  highest  economy  in  trade  will  be  at 
tained  when  many  profit-sharing  concerns  are  grouped  to 
gether  with  a  common  pay  and  accounting  department 
and  common  rent  and  delivery.  This  would  give  the 
small  manufacturer  a  fair  market  under  his  own  name; 
give  the  hand-worker  in  a  garret  a  chance  to  compete  with 
the  employer  of  wage-labor;  secure  to  the  small  merchant 
a  chance  to  compete  with  the  rich  one,  and  open  a  way 
for  the  constant  and  natural  evolution  of  the  faithful,  in 
dustrious,  and  competent  worker  into  a  self-employer." 

"  And  he  is  right,  too,"  exclaimed  Kishu  with  enthu 
siasm. 

"  I  confess  the  scheme  is  too  intricate  for  me.  I  cannot 
see  through  it." 

"But  I  can:  I  suppose  because  my  experience  has 
been  in  the  line  of  dependent  and  related  enterprises. 
Each  business  pays  for  room,  light,  heat,  packing,  ac 
counting,  delivery,  and  the  like  at  established  rates,  and 
shares  in  the  profit  after  interest  and  expenses  according 
to  the  amount  contributed  by  each.  Then  each  business 
does  the  same  with  its  contributory  elements,  capital, 
labor,  skill.  By  and  by  skill  and  labor  buy  out  capital — 
which,  being  always  strong,  seeks  a  new  field.  I  will  show 
you  the  difference.  Hornblower  has  two  thousand  em 
ployes  in  his  great  emporium  business.  He  is  worth  five 
million.  In  twenty  years  more  he  will  probably  be  worth 
five  times  as  much  and  have  ten  times  as  many  depend 
ents.  If  he  were  at  the  head  of  such  an  establishment 


53  8  MURVALE  EASTMAN. 

as  Mr.  Eastman  has  in  mind,  he  would  probably  not 
more  than  double  his  capital  in  that  time,  but  the  other 
fifteen  millions  would  go  into  the  pockets  and  homes  of 
the  other  contributors  to  his  success.  Or  rather  they 
might  buy  him  out  in  ten  years  and  there  would  be  a 
thousand  joint  proprietors  instead  of  one  owner  and  many 
servants." 

"  I  suppose  it  would  require  a  new  and  complex  system 
of  operation,"  commented  Underwood. 

"New!  It  needs  nothing  new — no  new  method,  I 
mean — only  an  intelligent  use  of  existing  methods  with  a 
strong  enough  hand  on  the  lever  and  a  large  enough  bal 
ance  in  the  bank.  I  see  it  all!  " 

He  sprang  up  and  walked  vigorously  up  and  down  the 
porch.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  the  rest  of  Gar 
den  Square,  Underwood?"  he  asked  finally,  turning 
sharply  on  his  companion. 

"  Nothing." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do.  If  you  will  put  that  in  at  a 
fair  value,  I'll  put  a  temple  of  trade  and  industry  on  it 
that  will  help  more  men  up  the  ladder  to  independence 
than  any  half-dozen  establishments  in  the  city  can  drag 
down.  This  plan  won't  make  as  many  very  rich  men  as 
the  old  one,  but  I  think  it  will  make  more  honest,  con 
tented,  self-respecting,  and  independent  men  than  the  old 
way  ever  could.  And  /  don't  see  as  it  can  do  anybody 
any  harm." 

"  I'll  give  the  land  to  Mr.  Eastman  to  do  with  as  he 
pleases." 

"  All  right.  I  could  not  ask  a  better  partner.  We'll 
put  up  a  building  there  that  will  dwarf  even  your  club 
house,  and  fill  it  from  basement  to  peak  with  enterprising 
people  who  will  make  a  success  of  it," 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM.  539 

"  I  envy  you  the  power  to  achieve,"  said  Underwood, 
looking  at  the  other  admiringly. 

"  You  have  done  much  more  than  I  ever  can,"  re 
sponded  Kishu,  looking  earnestly  at  his  friend. 

"  I  have  done  nothing — only  wished  to  do." 

"  You  forget  that  the  Belt  &  Cross-Cut  Company  have 
determined  to  declare  a  regular  dividend  every  year  and 
allow  the  employes  to  select  two  of  the  board  of  direc 
tors?" 

"  Yes,"  answered  Underwood,  "  I  am  one  of  those  they 
chose  the  first  year." 

"  And  it  is  an  honor  any  man  may  be  proud  of,  sir,  and 
you  have  well  deserved  it;  but  for  you  it  would  never 
have  been  done." 

"Ah,  that  was  Eastman's  work;  I  could  never  have 
managed  those  fellows." 

"But  Mr.  Eastman  says  he  should  never  have  thought  of 
moving  in  the  matter,  if  it  had  not  been  for  his  conver 
sations  with  you." 

"He  gives  me  too  much  credit,"  replied  Underwood 
gloomily.  "The  others  did  it  all;  I  could  only  sit  by 
and  watch  their  work." 

"  I  don't  like  to  hear  you  talk  that  way,"  said  Kishu 
impetuously.  "Let  me  tell  you  something:  if  you  had 
not  lain  sick  in  the  study  of  the  church,  and  he  had  not 
had  the  support  of  your  claim  as  the  heir  of  Valentine, 
Murvale  Eastman  would  be  without  a  pulpit  to-day,  and 
the  League  of  Christian  Socialists  would  be  only  another 
dream  to  be  laughed  at  by  the  wise !  " 

"You  think  so?" 

"I  know  it." 

"  Who  would  have  thought  those  days  of  helplessness 
would  be  worth  more  to  the  world  than  all  the  rest  of  my 


540 


MURVALE  EASTMAN. 


life !  Though  after  all  I  was  only  the  match  that  fired  the 
train." 

"  If  you  were  the  match,  the  rest  of  us  are  the  train, 
and  the  spark  should  not  be  envious  of  the  powder." 

"  I  guess  you  are  right,"  said  Underwood,  laughing. 
"The  idea  is  not  a  bad  one,  either,  only  I  was  not  the 
match — just  the  extreme  end  of  the  fuse  that  had  been 
centuries  in  preparation,  and  the  spark  that  finally  lit  it 
blew  over  the  ages  from  Olivet.  Do  you  know,  Mr. 
Kishu.  that  your  Christ-head  in  the  Golden  Lilies  first  set 
me  to  thinking  of  these  things  rather  than  grumbling 
about  them?  " 

"Is  that  so?"  exclaimed  Kishu.  "I'm  glad  of  it.  I 
feel  as  if  I  were  almost  at  quits  with  you  now." 

"  Yes,  we  are  instruments  of  the  same  great  thought. 
You  heard  what  happened  at  one  of  Mr.  Eastman's  down 
town  talks  on  Christian  Socialism,  I  suppose?" 

The  other  shook  his  head. 

"  Well,  he  was  telling  something  of  the  history  and  ex 
plaining  the  doings  and  sayings  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  his 
goodness  and  sympathy  for  the  oppressed  and  suffering, 
when  a  man  on  one  of  the  front  seats  who  had  been  a 
most  attentive  listener,  shouted,  *  Three  cheers  for  that 
man  from  Nazareth!  He's  the  best  one  yet! '  ' 

"  He  was  right,  too,"  said  Kishu  emphatically.  "  The 
Christian  idea  of  the  duty  of  love  has  been  at  the  bottom 
of  all  progress  since  it  was  uttered." 

"  And  before  too,"  added  Underwood.  "  For  before  it 
fell  from  his  lips,  it  had  been  planted  in  the  heart  of  man 
— the  principle  of  divine  and  eternal  justice  to  his  fellow." 

"I  used  to  think,"  said  Mr.  Kishu  meditatively,  "that 
God  did  all  the  good  in  the  world,  and  man  did  only  evil: 
but  I  am  beginning  to  believe  that  all  that  God  does  is  to 


THE  ALOE-BLOSSOM.  541 

give  man  a  chance  to  do  right,  and  then  scourge  him  un 
til  he  does  it;  and  that  the  difference  between  progress 
and  retrogression  is  just  the  difference  between  a  wise 
man  and  a  fool." 

"  Knows  when  he's  had  enough,  eh?  " 

"  That's  it." 

"And  we — we  are  beginning  to  be  wise?"  asked  Un 
derwood  with  an  arch  glance  at  his  friend's  face. 

"Exactly!" 

The  two  men  laughed  heartily  at  this  quaint  philoso 
phy,  which  after  all  is  only  a  paraphrase  of  the  immutable 
axiom  that  "  Wisdom  is  justice,  and  justice  wisdom." 

"  Looks  as  if  they  were  growing  young  again,  doesn't 
it,"  said  Lilian  Kishu  to  Mrs.  Merton,  nodding  toward  the 
two  whose  conversation  we  have  followed,  from  the  corner 
of  the  piazza  where  they  were  sitting.  "  Papa  hasn't 
seemed  so  much  like  himself  since  he  had  his  stroke. 
Wasn't  it  strange  that  our  sorrow  brought  your  happi 
ness?" 

"  I  am  afraid,"  answered  Mrs.  Merton,  following  her 
glance,  "  that  it  will  not  be  for  long." 

"What  do  you  mean?  Is  he  not  making  plans  and 
laying  out  new  work?  " 

"  Yes — plans  for  others  to  execute.  We  hoped  he 
would  give  up  thinking  after  he  had  fully  informed  Mr. 
Eastman  and  Mr.  Metziger  of  his  purposes." 

"  Is  that  why  they  have  been  here  so  much?  I  was  in 
hopes  that  Murvale — I  can't  help  calling  him  that — " 
Lillian  added  in  answer  to  her  friend's  glance,  "had  come 
for  a  very  different  purpose." 

"Indeed!" 

"Yes.  I  did — truly  and  honestly.  He  ought  to  have 
fallen  in  love  with  you  instead  of  with  me  at  the  outset. 
You  would  make  just  the  right  kind  of  a  wife  for  him." 


$42  ^r^R^ALE  EAST 

"  Thank  you,"  with  a  smile. 

"  But  I  mean  it.  I'd  tell  him  so  if  I  thought  it  would 
do  any  good,  but  I  suppose  he'll'  never  marry  now ;  the 
Church  and  the  League  are  all  he  can  find  room  for  in  his 
heart." 

"You  think  so?" 

"  Well,  Frank  says  they  are  more  than  enough  to  fill 
one  cracked  organ  of  that  kind;  but  I  don't  believe  in 
broken  hearts — in  these  days  at  least,  do  you?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  Murvale  Eastman's  is  broken,  any 
how,"  laughed  Mrs.  Merton. 

"  Oh,  you  don't?  "  suspiciously.  "  Perhaps  he  has  asked 
you  to  mend  it  for  him?  " 

"  He  never  has;  and  if  he  had  I  shouldn't  have  under 
taken  the  task.  Hearts  that  break  are  not  worth  mending." 

"Poor  fellow!  I'm  sorry  you  think  so,"  answered 
Lilian  with  a  sigh.  She  rose  as  she  spoke  and  went  and 
leaned  over  her  father's  chair. 

Mrs.  Merton's  gaze  as  she  looked  past  them  fell  upon 
a  yacht  that  was  dancing  over  the  laughing  waters  with  a 
good  breeze  stretching  every  inch  of  canvas.  She  gave 
a  start  as  she  recognized  it.  She  knew  instinctively  its 
name,  and  who  it  was  that  stood  at  the  wheel.  She  knew, 
too,  why  it  was  that  the  little  sloop  which  had  sailed  away 
the  day  before  was  unexpectedly  coming  back  to  the  an 
chorage  it  had  visited  every  week  for  a  month  past.  There 
had  been  many  pleasant  trips  upon  Eastman's  jaunty 
yacht,  and  even  the  invalids  had  spent  many  delightful 
hours  upon  her  deck.  But  yesterday  he  had  said  good- 
by ;  so  at  least  they  all  supposed.  His  spring  outing,  her 
owner  had  said,  was  over,  and  he  was  going  back  to  his 
work.  Yet  here  was  the  Galatea,  with  her  white  wings 
spread,  speeding  back  to  the  accustomed  haven. 


ALOE-BLOSSOM.  543 

As  Mrs.  Merton  watched  it  a  picture  floated  before  her 
eyes.  There  had  been  a  late  ring  at  her  door  one  even 
ing  in  the  last  mid-winter,  and  she  had  answered  the  bell 
herself. 

"  O  Letty !  "  Mr.  Eastman  had  said  excitedly,  as  he  en 
tered  without  asking  leave.  "  I  have  something  so  won 
derful  to  tell  you!  " 

He  had  never  called  her  by  her  given  name  before. 
She  did  not  feel  any  surprise,  only  a  great  gladness. 
Somehow  she  seemed  always  to  have  been  expecting  that 
he  would  some  time  address  her  thus.  She  led  the  way 
into  the  sitting-room,  turned  up  the  lights  in  the  chande 
lier,  and  read  the  letter  he  put  into  her  hands — the  letter 
which  Mrs.  Espey  had  written  to  Mrs.  Kishu.  It  needed 
no  interpretation. 

"Well?"  she  said,  turning  toward  him  inquiringly. 

"  Do  you  recognize  the  handwriting?  " 

"  Certainly." 

"  And  you  know —     "  he  blushed  and  stammered. 

"Who  the  undutiful  child  was?  Surely  you  do  not 
need  to  ask?  " 

"  Of  course — but — does  she — do  you — know  who  she 
iff" 

"  Is  it  a  riddle?"  she  asked  with  a  smile. 

"I  do  not  mean  that;  but — do  you  know  whose 
daughter  she  is?  " 

She  had  turned  a  look  of  wide-eyed  wonder  upon  him  at 
this  inquiry.  His  face  was  pale  and  his  eyes  were  full  of 
anxious  light.  He  had  whispered  one  word  and  the  mys 
tery  of  her  life  had  flashed  upon  her.  There  was  no 
reason  why  she  should  faint.  She  was  not  given  to  such 
folly;  but  all  at  once  the  room  seemed  to  whirl  around; 
then  it  grew  dark  and  she  felt  herself  sinking  down  into 


544  MUKTALK  EASTMAN. 

space,  yet  without  any  fear  of  falling.  It  was  but  a  second. 
When  she  opened  her  eyes  she  was  sitting  in  a  chair  and 
Murvale  Eastman  was  bending  over  her  with  a  look  in  his 
eyes  that  she  had  never  seen  before. 

She  had  made  excuse  for  her  weakness  that  evening 
and  he  had  told  her  that  he  must  hurry  back ;  he  had 
made  the  discovery  of  her  identity  only  five  minutes  be 
fore,  when  called  to  help  in  the  search  for  Mr.  Kishu, 
who  had  been  missing  since  morning.  He  would  come 
again  and  let  her  know  if  he  was  found  before  midnight; 
if  not,  early  in  the  morning,  as  he  supposed  she  would 
wish  to  make  arrangements  to  go  immediately  to  her 
parents.  An  hour  afterward  he  had  returned,  his  face 
joyous  and  exultant,  with  only  a  shade  of  uncertainty  upon 
it.  He  had  stayed  and  talked  with  her  for  an  hour,  ex 
plaining  all  that  had  occurred.  The  next  day  he  had 
gone  with  her  to  meet  those  from  whom  she  had  been  so 
long  separated.  That  new-found  happiness  had  occupied 
her  thought  and  life  ever  since,  but  had  never  obliterated 
the  memory  of  the  look  she  had  surprised  upon  his  face 
when  she  came  back  out  of  the  shadows.  She  had  seen 
it  often  since.  They  had  been  much  together;  he  had 
uttered  no  word  of  love,  but  the  look  in  his  eyes  had 
grown  deeper  and  tenderer.  She  knew  that  the  time 
would  come  when  he  would  again  call  her  by  her  name. 


Her  father  came  and  stood  beside  her  as  Mr.  Kishu  left 
the  gallery  leaning  on  his  daughter's  arm. 

"  Is  not  that  Mr.  Eastman's  yacht?  "  she  asked,  extend 
ing  her  hand  and  pointing  over  the  rail. 

"  Bless  me!  I  believe  it  is,"  was  the  reply.  "  What  can 
he  be  coming  back  for?'1 


THE   ALOE- BLOSSOM.  545 

She  made  no  reply.  He  took  her  hand  and  held  it, 
patting  it  affectionately. 

"Why,  how  the  opal  glows!"  he  said,  looking  down 
upon  it.  "  There  must  be  some  good  fortune  near  you, 
little  Allie." 

The  lost  child  had  always  remained  "  little  Allie  "  to  her 
parents.  Her  cheeks  glowed,  too,  as  he  looked  from 
them  to  the  approaching  craft.  He  stooped  and  kissed 
her  forehead.  It  was  only  an  accustomed  caress.  He 
did  not  dream  that  his  words  were  prophetic.  Full  of  his 
own  thoughts  and  fatigued  by  his  long  talk  with  Kishu, 
he  gathered  up  his  papers  and  went  to  his  room.  The 
yacht  was  hidden  from  view  as  she  approached  her  moor 
ings.  Mrs.  Merton  sat  still,  dreaming  contentedly.  She 
knew  her  fate  was  approaching,  but  would  not  run  to 
meet  it.  She  heard  a  step  on  the  piazza,-,  felt  an  ap 
proaching  presence. 

"Letty!" 

"Murvale!" 

She  rose  and  gave  him  her  hand.  The  opal  gleamed 
with  rosy  light  as  he  lifted  it  to  his  lips. 


THE    END. 


"A     WORD-PAINTING    OF    THE    SPIRIT  OF   OUR  AGE. 

THE  STORY  OF  AN  EPOCH. 

BY 
A,    "W.    Tourgee. 


An  extraordinary  line  of  Novels,  graphically  presenting  the  life  of  a 
generation,  from  the  rise  of  the  Anti-Slavery  sentiment  (i%4&),  through  the- 
Rebellion  (1861-1865)  to  the  end  of  the  Reconstruction  Era  (1876),  and  on 
into  the  days  of  the  New  South  and  its  elements  of  hope. 

As  A'ovei89  these  books  are  of  sui^passing  interest 
and  power ;  as  History,  of  recognized  value. 


It  is  safe  to  presume  that  every  intelligent  person  has  heard  of 
"  A  Fool's  Errand,"  even  if  he  has  not  read  that  famous  book  which  made 
its  author's  name  known  all  over  the  land.  Its  swift  fame  arose  largely 
out  of  the  startling  revelations  that  it  made  of  the  crisis  in  the  relations 
between  whites  and  blacks  at  the  South,  during  the  Reconstruction  Era; 
but  the  same  keen  insight,  powerful  dramatic  instinct,  and  genius  of  nar 
ration  which  made  that  book  effective,  appear  throughout  the  entire  series 
of  veritable  romances  of  which  "  A  Fool's  Errand  "  is  but  a  part. 

Born  in  Ohio,  brought  up  in  Central  New  York,  educated  at  an 
Eastern  college;  a  veteran  of  the  War,  with  evidences,  in  his  own  wounds 
and  imprisonment,  of  the  soldierly  qualities  of  the  South;  with  fifteen  years 
residence  and  observation  since  the  war  among  Southern  scenes,  where 
he  held  high  legal  position,  and  contributed  some  notable  law-books  to 
the  use  of  his  profession, — Judge  TOURGEE  has  had  an  unusual  chance 
to  familiarize  himself  with  all  the  diverse  elements  of  history  and  romance 
which  he  has  so  deftly  wrought  into  his  books. 

History  is  the  bony  framework  of  the  world's  recorded  life ; 
romance,  the  flesh  and  blood, — and  more  than  that,  the  breath  of  life.  His 
tory  tells  the  doings  of  masses  of  men;  and  we  must  study  it.  But  when 
there  appears  a  writer  whe  patiently  studies  characters,  gathers  facts,  com 
prehends  motives,  who  combines  his  gathered  facts  and  types  and  events 
into  a  glowing  picture,  and  by  tracing  the  personal  adventures  and  lives  of 
selected  individuals  sets  forth  the  causes  and  springs  of  national  events — 
then  men  will  read  history  easily  and  eagerly.  The  great  dramas  of 
Shakespeare,  the  superb  historical  tales  of  Scott,  the  keen  satirical  novels 
of  Thackeray,  the  never-to-be-forgotten  power  of  Mrs.  Stowe's  "  Uncle 
Tom,"  the  stunning  blows  and  trenchant  thrusts  of  "A  Fool's  Errand," 
— all  these  are  as  household  words! 


is  such  a  writer :  he  is,  as  a  prominent  New  England 
paper  called  him,  "  romancist,  sage,  publicist,  politician  and  philosopher  in 
one — a  rare  combination."  He  has  knowledge,  uncommon  common-sense, 
discretion,  shrewd  wit,  rollicking  humor,  a  mastery  of  the  subtle  elements 
of  pathos  and  romance,  and  the  extraordinary  gift  of  graphic  description 
and  narration  which  led  a  Southern  paper  to  speak  of  his  "  Royal  Gentle 
man  "  as  being  "vivid  as  the  lightnings."  Small  wonder,  then,  that 
the  readers  of  his  novels  number  more  than  a  million  of  our  people — 
North  and  South,  East  and  West ! 

A  few  points  concerning  the  novels  themselves  will  be  of  inter 
est.  We  take  them  in  the  order  of  their  action. 

1.  Hot  Plowshares.    Written  latest,  it  stands  first  in  time, 
almost  in  interest.  Beginning  among  the  country  folk  of  Central  New  York, 
in  1848 — about  the  time  of  California  gold,  the  early  telegraph, few  railroads, 
and  before  street  gas,  mowing-  and  sewing-machines,  petroleum,  and  other 
modern  necessities — it  traces  the  rise  and  growth  of  the  Anti-Slavery 
sentiment  as  a  force  in  the  political,  social  and  industrial  life  of  the  time, 
and  with  a  whirl  of  exciting  incidents  and  conflicts  of  strong  characters 
brings  the  story  down  to  the  hot  days  of  1860.     It  is  the  historical  back 
ground  for  all  his  other  works.     Read  the  Preface,  and  get  the  complete 
view. 

2.  Figs  and  Thistles.    Racy  of  the  Western  soil,  this  story 
of  a  typical  American  career  depicts  a  poor  boy,  educated  chiefly  through 
his  own  pluck,  in  college  during  the  passionate  outburst  of  patriotism  fol 
lowing  the  Sumter  attack,  soldier,  officer,  colonel,  general,  Congressman, 
business  manager,  lawyer,  Senator.     It  does  not  follow  Garfield  into  the 
White  House,  for  it  was  rather  suggested  by  his  career  than  modeled  on 
it,  but  it  is  one  of  the  most  attractive  and  characteristically  American  of 
the  whole  series. 

3.  A  Royal  Gentleman.    The  career  of  a  brave-spirited 
young  Southerner  before,  during,  and  just  after  the  war;  a  kind  of  pendant 
picture  to  the  foregoing — contrasting  wealth,  ease,  gallantry,  and  the  un 
conscious  self-indulgence  and  weakness  wrought  by  Slavery  on  the  master- 
race,  with  the  poverty,  courage,  devotion  to  duty,  and  steady  success  of 
the  young  Westerner.     The  element  of  woman's  love  and  beauty,  and  the 
tragic  romance  of  inequality  of  rank   between  lovers  (the   key-note  of 
romance  since  the  world  was)  here  find    a  picturesque  and  splendid  set 
ting,  and  the  flavor   of  the  old  plantation-life  has  been  commended  by 
many  Southern  critics.  Read  the  Preface  to  gain  the  author's  stand-point. 

4-  A  Fool's  Errand.  By  one  of  the  Fools.  The  com 
bined  folly  and  conceit  of  wisdom  shown  in  the  attempts  of  Congress  to 
"  Reconstruct  "  the  lately  rebellious  States,  and  the  absurdity  of  a  North 
ern  man's  supposing  that  defeat  in  the  war  could  instantly  eradicate  the 
results  of  two  hundred  years  of  slavery,  and  going  South  to  live  and  talk 
as  if  he  were  at  the  North,  form  the  motive  of  this  book.  The  pictures  of 
those  frightful  times  of  White  and  Black  antagonism  are,  literally,  "not 
matched  in  the  whole  range  of  modern  fiction." 

5.  BricJts  Without  Straw.    A  Romance  of  Races,  as  "  A 

Fool's  Errand  "  was  a  Romance  of  History.  The  details  of  the  bondage 
imposed  upon  the  Freedmen,  the  charming  episode  of  the  Northern  school 
mistress  and  the  high-born,  manly  young  Southerner,  the  unctuous  humor 
of  Negro  characters,  the  shrewd  showing  of  legal  complication  and  ab- 


surdities,  the  swing  and  power  of  the  whole  narrative — opening  up  some 
things  that  the  South  have  forgotten  and  the  North  never  knew — combine 
to  make  a  fit  sequence  and  worthy  companion-piece  to  "  A  Fool's  Errand." 

6.  John    Kax :    Including    Mameloit    and    ZoHi-i'a 
Christinas.     It  is  hard  to  understand  how  the  same  mind   and  pen 
that  pictured  so  startlingly  the  wrongs  of  the  Hlack  could  also  appreciate 
and    set  forth  in  attractive  guise  the  kindly  elements  of  White  and  Black 
intercourse   at   the   South,  and   the   hopeful  look  of  the  future  "South 
without   the    Shadow."    But   such  is  the  privilege  and  power  of  genius; 
such,  too,  was  one  of  the  marvels  of  Mrs.  Stowre's  great  work.     And  a 
Mississippi  paper  says  of  this  charming  volume  that  it  "  will  do  more 
toward  bringing  Southern  and  Northern  people  into  complete  social  and 
business  intercourse  than  all  the  peace  conferences  and  soldier  reunions 
ever  held  since  the  war,  put  together." 

7.  Slack  Ice.    A  Story  of  the  North  !    A   ringing  winter ; 
youths  and  maidens;  sleighing  and  skating;  thoroughbred  horses  (the  Judge 
loves  a  horse,  and  always  has  one  in  his  books;  Lollard  of  "  A  Fool's 
Errand  "  and  Satan  of  "  Bricks  Without  Straw  "  have  made  themselves 
famous);  and    many  characteristic  pictures  of  domestic  and  social  rural 
enjoyment  among  bright  and  cultivated  people,  offer  an  interesting  variety 
from  the  "  Epoch  "  series  of  the  six  other  volumes.     Here,  too,  he  gives 
play  to   his   apt   delineation   of   characters,  and  the  reader  makes  some 
strange  and  fascinating  acquaintances. 

Of  these  seven  volumes,  the  scenes  of  three  are  laid  at  the 
North  and  four  at  the  South, — the  mirror  of  life  being  thus  held 
up  to  both'sections,  completing  a  full  picture  of  American  life. 

On  the  whole,  this  is  a  set  of  books  entirely  unique  in  American 
literature.  It  is  one  that  every  well-furnished  library  ought  to 
have,  that  every  well-read  person  ought  to  know — a  "  duty  "  easy 
and  agreeable  of  accomplishment ! 

***  Sets,   the  above  Seven  Vofs.,   new  Popular  Edi 
tion,  extra  cloth,  boxed,     $1O. 


I  read  "  A  Fool's  Errand  "  with  deep  interest,  and  shall  keep  this  vol 
ume  in  my  library  as  a  souvenir  of  the  author,  whom  I  remember  to  have 
met  during  the  time  he  so  admirably  and  graphically  depicts. 


Though  in  the  form  of  fiction  it  is  really  thrilling  history  which  every, 
body  should  read. 

f 


Secretary  U.  S.  Treasury. 


AN  APPEAL  TO  CLESAR 

By  ALBION  W.  TOURGEE,  LL.D., 

Author  of  "  A  Fools  Errand"  Bricks  -without  Straw"  etc. 


JCDOB  TOURQEB'S  pubusnea  oooks  hitherto  (except  two  law-books)  have  been 
*Bthe  form  of  fiction,  and  have  dealt  with  the  mutual  relations  of  Whites  and 
Slacks  in  America  iu  a  way  to  most  easily  reach  the  public  attention. 

"An  Appeal  to  G'cesar"  treats  of  the  same  weighty  problems  in  a  different 
way.  The  central  topic  of  this  book  is  National  Aid  to  Education  throughout 
the  States,  in  proportion  to  llliieracy  and  to  the  local  efforts  to  remedy  it. 


Notable. 

••  An  amazing  book."— Washington 
Critic. 

"  A  book  to  be  read  and  pondered." 
—Chicago  Advance. 

"  The  book  is  like  a  calcium-light."— 
Boston  Congregationalist. 

"  An  appeal  to  the  American  people 
to  be  wise  in  time."— Michigan  Christian 
Advocate. 

"  Crammed  with  statistics  and  pow 
erful  arguments."— Journal  of  Educa 
tion,  Boston. 

"May  well  be  called  'a  trumpet 
blast.'  ...  An  absorbingly  interesting 
work."— New  York  Star. 

"  Deserves  the  widest  circulation 
and  most  thought ful  study."— Christian 
Intelligencer,  New  York. 

"A  singular  title  and  a  most  extra 
ordinary  book.  ...  It  is  irresistibly  read 
able."—  Magazine  of  American.  History. 

''Ought  to  startle  the  American 
people,  and  will  no  doubt,  lead  to  a 
great  deal  of  vigorous  thinking."— Chris 
tian  at  Work,  New  York. 

"The  argument  throughout  is  elo 
quent  and  conclusive.  'An  Appeal  to 
Caesar '  Is  a  book  that  every  thoughtful 
citizen  should  ponder."— Evening  Travel 
ler,  Boston. 

Demands  attention  both  for  the 
seriousness  of  the  sublet  and  the  sur 
prising,  tint  to  say  startling  character  of 
the  statements  presented."— Richmond 
(Fa.)  Christian  Advocate. 

"  Offers  a  series  of  vistas  in  different 
directions  through  the  sen-lent  array  of 
census  flgur's  that  are  sirnnly  astound- 
In?,  while  his  keen,  vigorous  t-eatment 
of  the  M  compels  and  rewards  attention." 
—Publishers'  Weekly,  N.  Y. 

''  The  question  of  which  he  treats  is 
one  that  we  cannot,  dare  not.  ns  n  people 
lirnore.  Every  patriotic  pen  In  the  land, 
should  orive  nof^to  his  appeal."— Amend 
ment  Herald,  Cleveland, 


"  The  author  of  '  A  Fool's  Errand  ' 
has  written  another  powerful  work.  .  .  . 
Judging  from  tiie  way  it  has  been  al 
ready  received  by  tlie  public.it  is  10  be 
one  of  the  most  widely  read  books  he 
has  written."— Hartford  Christian  Secre 
tary. 

"  Suggests  that  the  American  people 
have  been  straining  at  a  gnat  and  swal 
lowing  21  camel  In  making  so  much  ado 
about  n  few  .Mongolian  aliens aii'i  giving 
so  little  attention  to  negro  naiives  who 
swarm  thick  as  the  locust  el  >uds  of  old 
Egypt."— St.  Louis  (Ho.)  Republican. 

"  Ought  to  be  read  by  every  voter  in 
the  laud."— Index-Appeal,  Petersburg, 
Va. 

"  Deserves  the  thoughtful  study  of 
every  citizen,  even  of  those  who  do  not 
consider  the  remedy  he  advocates  the 
one  best  adapted  to  the  cure  of  the 
malady."— New  York  Jewish  Advocate. 

Timely. 

"Judge  Tourgee's  timely  book  of 
warning.  .  .  .  The  ringinsr  title  of  Judtre 
Tourgee's  new  hook  would  alone  attract 
attention,  even  if  we  did  not  remember 
that  Its  author  had  before  startleduswlth 
facts  that  it  wns  well  for  us  to  know. 
It  is  written  to  rouse  the  American  peo 
ple  from  thf  indolence  which  refuses 
to  look  beneath  the  surface  for  causes  of 
future  trouble  in  events  peaceful  enontfh 
to  all  appearance  at  the  time."— The 
Critic,  New  York. 

"  Judge  Toureee's  book  will  serve  a 
valnnh'e  purpose,  or-mlncr  ns  it  does  just 
nt  this  time,  if  It  will  turn  popiilnr  atren- 
tlon  to  the  condition  of  the  Afrlcnn  rnce 
in  the  South  to-day."—  Philadelphia  News. 

"  If  his  book  shall  have  the  effect  of 
pauMncr  thoughtful  neon'e  to  study  the 
race  question  for  themselves,  it  will 
achieve  a  crood  purpose.  For  this  ques 
tion  prow*  In  Importance  everv  dav  and 
will  continue  to  prow  In  Importance 
until  Providence,  e^mi'itr  to  the  aid  of 
the  politicians,  shall  point  out  the  solu 
tion."— Atlanta  (Ga.)  Constitution. 


of  General  Interest, 

PUBLISHED   BY 

FORDS,  HOWARD,  &  HULBERT, 

30  Lafayette  Place,  New  York. 


Anonymous. 


AN  APPEAL  TO  PHARAOH.     A  Radical  Solution  of  the 
Negro  Problem.     i6mo.     Cloth,  $i. 


"  Audacious,    ingenious. 


It 


will  repay  reading.     It  will  provoke 
thought.1  *— Boston  Traveller. 

'•  Written  in  a  fascinatingly  clear 
style  by  some  one  who  has  studied  the 
problem  long  and  carefully,  and  who 
has  clear  convictions  and  the  courage 
of  them.  .  .  .  We  dissent  from  his 
conclusions.1"  —  Christian  Union. 


"That  it  is  written  by  a  deep  stud 
ent  of  this  problem  there  can  be  no 
doubt.  That  it  will  create  a  profound 
sensation  and  lead  to  wide  discussion 
can  hardly  be  doubted." — Atlanta 
(Ga.)  Constitution. 

"Tellingly  original.  .  .  .  espe 
cially  forcible."—  Worcester  Spy. 


Henry  Ward  Beecher. 

PATRIOTIC  ADDRESSES  IN  AMERICA  AND  ENGLAND 
(1850-1885).  On  Slavery,  Civil  War  and  the  Development  of 
Civil  Liberty  in  the  United  States.  Edited,  with  a  "Review  of 
Mr.  Beecher's  Personality  and  Influence  in  Public  Affairs,"  by 
JOHN  R.  HOWARD.  8s8pp.,8vo.  With  Portraits.  Cloth,  $2.75; 
clo.  gilt,  $3.25;  half  mor.,  $4.25.  Popular  edition,  $2. 

"  Indispensable  to  those  who  would 
justly  estimate  Mr.  Beecher's  life  and 


labors. "— Prof.  R.W.  RAYMOND,  PH.D. 
*'  No  library  and  no  public  man  should 
be  without  a  copy  of  this  valuable  vol 
ume."— Hon.  WILLIAM  M.  EVARTS. 


"A  new  and  valuable  illustration  of 
his  power  as  an  orator,  the  memory  of 
which  a  grateful  nation  ought  not  to 
lose ;  a  contribution  to  the  nistory  of 
the  nation  in  its  most  critical  period.*' 
— Christian  Union. 


BEECHER  AS  A  HUMORIST.  Anecdotes  and  Excerpts 
of  Wit  and  Humor  from  his  works.  Compiled  by  ELEANOR  KIRK- 
i6mo,  Vellum  cloth,  $1.00. 


"  Hundreds  of  themes  and  thoughts, 
and  every  one  with  a  whip-crack  in  it." 
—  Texas  Sif tings. 


"  Extracts  which  now  please  the  in 
tellect,  and  now  tickle  the  fancy  into 
merriment,   but  which    never   fail   to 
touch  the  heart  of  some  eternal  truth."  , 
— Providence  Journal. 

NORWOOD;  or,  Village  Life  in  New  England.    A  novel. 

(New popular  edition.*)     Cloth,  $1.25. 


"  Embodies  more  cf  the  high  art  of 
fiction  than  any  half-dozen  of  the  best 
novels  of  the  best  authors  of  the  day. 


It  will  bear  to  be  read  and  re-read  as 
often  as  Dickens' '  Dombey '  or  '  David 
Copperfield.'  ""-Albany  Eve^g Journal. 


ALSO,  his  Religious  Works — Evolution  and  Religion. 
Sermons,  Lectures  on  Preaching,  Royal  Truths.  Comforting 
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MISCELLANEOUS  PUBLIC  A  TIONS. 


Alexandra  Bida. 

THE  LOVERS  OF  PROVENCE  (Aucassin  and  Nicolette]. 
A  MS.  Romance  of  the  Xllth  Century,  rendered  into  modern 
French  by  ALEXANDRE  BIDA.  Translated  into  English  Verse  and 
Prose  by  A.  R.  MACDONOUGH.  Introductory  Note  and  Poem  by 
EDMUND  C.  STEDMAN'.  Exquisitely  Illustrated  by  ALEXANDRE 
BIDA,  MARY  HALLOCK  FOOTE,  W.  HAMILTON  GIBSON,  and  F. 
DIELMAN.  New  Edition.  I2mo.  Antique  binding,  $1.50. 

"A  delightful  picture  of  mediaeval 
romance,  pure  in  tone,  and  painted 
with  a  delicacy  of  stroke  and  vividness 
of  coloring  obtained  in  few  modern 
compositions.  The  make-up  of  the 


book  is  in  harmony  with  its  charming 
contents." — The  Nation. 
"  Entirely  unique  and  very  beautiful 
,  .  — Chicago  fournal?"* 


William  Cullen  Bryant. 

FAMILY  LIBRARY  OF  POETRY  AND  SONG.  Edited  by 
W.  C.  BRYANT.  Memorial  Edition.  2000  poems  from  700  au 
thors—English,  Scottish,  Irish  and  American,  including  transla 
tions  from  ancient  and  modern  languages;  600  poems  and  200  au 
thors  not  in  former  editions.  Containing  also  Mr.  Bryant's  Intro 
ductory  Essay  on  Poetry,  one  of  his  most  valued  productions  ; 
Biography  of  Mr.  Bryant,  by  Gen.  JAMES  GRANT  WILSON  ;  Com 
plete  indexes.  Illustrated.  Holiday,  and  Memorial  Subscription 
Editions.  Send  for  circular. 

"  The  most  complete  and  satisfactory  I  who  presided  over  American  poetrv 
work  of  the  kind  ever  issued."— New  \  almost  from  its  birth,  should  have  left 
York  Tribune. 

"  Nothing  has  ever  approached  it  in 
completeness. "-New  York 


"  It  is  highly  fitting  that  Mr.  Bryant, 


this  collection  as  an  evidence  of  his 
fluence  in  forming  the  American  taste 
for  what  is  pure  and  noble." — Cincin 
nati  Christian  Standard. 


Helen  Campbell. 

A  SYLVAN  CITY.     Philadelphia,  Old  and  New.     Pro 
fusely  Illustrated.     $2  oo. 


"  So  beautiful  and  attractive  a  book 
upon  the  picturesque  localities  and 
characters  of  Philadelphia  has  never 


before  been  issued."—  The  Keystone, 
Philadelphia. 


THE  EASIEST  WAY  IN  HOUSEKEEPING  AND  COOKING. 
Cloth,  $1.00. 

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our  notice." — New  York  Examiner.  I  cago  Tribune. 

"  Admirable    in    matter,    cheap    in  | 

THE  HOUSEKEEPER'S  YEAR  BOOK.     Limp  cloth,  50  cts. 


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dard. 


FOKDS.  HOWARD.  6-  HULBERT. 


Martin  Warren  Cookc. 
THE  HUMAN  MYSTERY  IN  HAMLET.     An   attempt  to 

Say  an  Unsaid  Word,  with  Suggestive  Parallelisms  from  the 
Elder  Poets.  By  the  President  of  the  JSi.  Y.  State  Bar  Association. 
i6mo.  Vellum  cloth,  gilt  top,  $1.00. 

spiration  from  Greek  and  Roman  class- 


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monize  conflicting  views  as  to  Hamlet's 
'  insanity  '  or  '  feigned  insanity,'  and 
show  that  Shakespeare  drew  much  in- 


ics,  while  bettering  their  instruction.' 
He  certainly  makes  out  an  excellent 
case,  and  has  done  it  with  remarkable 
clearness  and  attractive  interest." 


(Mrs.)  S.  M.  Henry  Davis. 
NORWAY  NIGHTS  AND  RUSSIAN  DAYS.      The  Record 

of  a  Pleasant  Summer  Tour.      With  many  Illustrations.     Decor 
ated  cloth.  $1.25;  hf.  calf,  gilt  top,  uncut.  $2  50. 

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ing." —  The  Critic.  New  York. 


"Simply  and  eptirely  delightful; 
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ing. 

SIR    PHILIP    SIDNEY:     His   Life   and   Times.      Steel 

plates:  Portrait  of  Sidney;  Mew  of  Penshurst  Castle;  fac-simile 

of  Sidney's  MS.      T2mo.     Cloth,  $i  50. 

"\Vorthy  of  place    as    an    English    distinct  and  lasting  than  the  greatest 
classic." — Pittsburgh  Commercial.  historians  are  in  the  habit  of  making." 

"  Compels  the  reader's  atte  \tion,  and    —Christian  Union,  New  York, 
leaves  upon  his  mind  impressions  more  | 

E.  C.  Gardner. 
THE    HOUSE    THAT   JILL   BUILT,    after    Jack's    had 

Proved  a  Failure.  A  book  on  Home  Architecture.  With  Illus 
trations  and  Plans,  by  the  author.  Cloth.  $1.50. 

'Includes  ....  whatever  is  really  I  "How  the  maximum  of  comfort  and 
necessary  in  order  to  build  an  artistic  |  beauty  can  be  secured  with  the  mini- 
and  convenient  house.  .  .  .  Rich  in  mum  of  expense.'  —Chicago  Tribune. 
sound  suggestions." — Boston  Globe.  \ 

Fanny  Chambers  Gooch. 
FACE  TO  FACE  WITH  THE  MEXICANS.     The  Domestic 

Life,  Educational,  Social  and  Business  Ways,  Statesmanship  and 
Literature,  Legendary  and  General  History  of  the  Mexican  Peo 
ple  as  Seen  and  Studied  by  an  American  Woman  During  Seven 
Years  of  Familiar  Intercourse  with  them.  Large  8vo.,  584  pp. 
200  illustrations  from  original  drawings  and  photographs. 

"  It  is  like  living  in  Mexico  to  read 
this  book  .  .  .  Altogether  this  is  a 
fresh,  piquant,  instructive  and  reada 
ble  work.  Many  books  take  one  to 
Mexico;  this  takes  one  into  Mencico."— 
Literary  II  orld^  Boston. 

UA    treasury  of   romance,    legend, 


historv,  picturesque  description,  and 
genial  humor  ....  a  remarkable  var 
iety  of  details  ....  of  valuable  infor 
mation,  alike  interesting-  to  the  trav 
eler  and  useful  to  the  business  com 
munity.'" — M.  ROMERO,  Minister  from 
Mexico, 


M1SCELLA  NEO  US  P  UBLICA  TIONS. 

John  George  Hezekiel. 
BISMARCK  :    His   AUTHENTIC  BIOGRAPHY.     Including 

many  Private  Letters  and  Memoranda.  Historical  Introduction 
by  BAYARD  TAYLOR.  Profusely  Illustrated:  New  Ma/>,  etc. 
Svo.  Cloth,  $3  50;  half  mor. ,  $4.00. 

"  If,  as  is  alleged,  '  history  is  biog-  I  tke  brains  inserted,  for  the  history  of 
raphy  with  the  brains  knocked  out,1  |  Bismarck  is  really  the  modern  history 
this  portly  volume  may  be  appropri-  i  of  Germany  and  the  key  to  that  of 
ately  called  a  chapter  of  history  with  \  modern  Europe."-  Detroit  Post. 

Harriet  Raymond  Lloyd. 

LIFE  AND  LETTERS  OF  JOHN  H.  RAYMOND.  Organ 
izer  and  First  President  of  Vassar  College.  Edited  by  his  eldest 
daughter.  Svo.  Steel  Portrait.  Cloth,  beveled,  $2  50. 

"It  is  the  creation  of  Vassar  Collg-e 
out  of  his  own  brain,  the  advance  from 
theory  to  practice,  the  working  out  of 
the  pathway  for  the  higher  education 
of  women  where  none  existed,  that 
wise  conservatism  and  intelligent  pro- 


reached,  and  the  entire  consecration 
of  his  life  to  these  ends— which  is  Dr. 
RAYMOND'S  chief  monument.'1  —  New 
York  Times. 

'•A  book,  the  charm  of  which  it  is 
not   easy    to  express." — Chicago   Ad- 


gress    by    which    these    results    were 

Henry  C.  McCook,  D.D. 

TENANTS  OF  AN  OLD  FARM:  Leaves  from  the  Note- 
Book  of  a  Naturalist.  By  the  Vice-Pres.  Acad.  Nat.  Sciences, 
Philadelphia.  Profusely  Illustrated.  460  pages.  Well  indexed. 
Decorated  cloth.  New  popular  edition  in  I2mo.  Price,  $1.50. 
Excursions  and  investigations  into  the  habits  of  moths,  bees,  hor 
nets,  ants,  spiders,  crickets,  cidadas,  and  many  varieties  of  insects 

"I  have  much  pleasure  in  bearing  |  "The  scientific  accuracy,  the  good 
testimony  to  the  fidelity  and  skill  which  j  illustrations  and  simple  descriptions 
Dr.  McCook  has  devoted  to  the  study  |  make  it  a  valuable  book  for  amateurs 


of  these  interesting  atoms:  and  those 
who  read  his  work  may  safely  depend 


and  a  good  book  of  reference  for  ad 
vanced  students.1'— Springfield  Repub- 


on  the  accuracy  of  what  he  says/' — 

From  Sir  JOHN   LUBBOCK'S  Preface  to  \      "  Would  make  a  charming  present  to 

the  English  Edition.  \  one  of  scientific  tastes."—  Advance. 

Jacob  Harris  Patton,  Ph.D. 

CONCISE  HISTORY  OF  THE  AMERICAN  PEOPLE.  Illus 
trated  with  Portraits  Charts.  Maps.  etc.  Marginal  Dates,  Census 
Tables,  Statistical  References,  and  full  Indexes.  2  vols..  Svo,  $5. 
"  We  take  great  pleasure  in  com-  "  Without  doubt  the  best  short  his- 

mending  it  for  all  the  purposes  of  a    tory  of  the  United  States  that  has  ever 

complete  and  accurate  history."— New  \  been  published/'—  Teacher's  Institute. 

York  Observer.  \  N.  Y. 

THE  DEMOCRATIC  PARTY:  Its  Political  History  and 
Influence  i6mo  350  pp.  Cloth  $1.00. 

"  An  instructive  outline  review  of  the  whole  political  history  of  the  United 
States.1'— New  York  Times. 


FORDS,  HOWARD,  &  HULDERT. 


Robert  R.  Raymond. 

SHAKESPEARE  FOR  THE  YOUNG  FOLK,  containing  "A 
Midsummer  Night's  Dream."  "  As  You  Like  It,"  "Julius  Caesar." 
8vo.  Richly  Illustrated.  Old  Gold  Cloth,  decorated,  $2.50. 

William  Osborne  Stoddard. 

ABRAHAM  LINCOLN.     The  Story  of  a  Great  Life.     By 

one  of  Mr.  Lincoln's  Secretaries.     Illustrated.     Cloth,  $2.25. 


"  Written  in  terse,  clear-cut  English, 
and  intensely  readable  from  beginning 
to  end—  Mr.Stoddard's,  in  our  opinion, 


approaches  closely  to  the  ideal  biog 
raphy  and  scarcely  will  be  super 
seded."—  The  Literary  World,  Boston. 


THE  VOLCANO  UNDER  THE  CITY.  A  graphic  and 
authentic  account  of  the  New  York  Draft  Riots  of  1863,  in  which 
more  than  1.400  men  were  killed  "With  map  of  New  York  City, 
showing  Police  Precincts.  Cloth,  $1. 


"  For  those  who  are  interested   in 
the  study  of  the  late  war  of  the  rebel 


lion  in  all  its  phases  the  bock  is  indis 
pensable." — z-<w/.,»  tteraid. 


Albion  W.  Tourgee. 
THE    STORY    OF    AN    EPOCH.       A    Series   of   Novels, 

presenting  American  life,  from  the  rise  of  the  Anti-Slavery  senti 
ment  (1848)  through  the  Rebellion  (1861-1865)  to  the  end  of  the 
Reconstruction  Era  (1876),  and  on  into  the  days  of  the  New  South 
end  its  elements  of  hope.  ''Hot  Plowshares;"  "Figs  and 
Thistles  ;  "  "A  Royal  Gentleman  ;  "  "A  Fool's  Errand,  by  One 
of  the  Fools;"  "Bricks  without  Straw"  (Illustrated,  $1.50  per 
vol  ) ;  ''John  Eax  and  Other  Stories  of  the  New  South;" 
"Black  Ice"  ($1.25  per  vol.).  Of  the  7  vols..  three  depict  life 
at  the  North,  and /cur  at  the  South.  The  Set  (boxed),  $10. 

AN  APPEAL  TO  CAESAR.  Advocating  National  Aid  to 
Education  throughout  the  States,  in  proportion  to  illiteracy  and  to 
the  local  efforts  to  remedy  it.  Diagrams  and  Tables.  Cloth,  $1.25. 


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ing,  while  his  keen,  vigorous  treatment 
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tion.  "—Piibliskers  Weekly,  N.  Y. 


Ben  C.  Truman. 

THE  FIELD  OF  HONOR.  A  History  of  Duelling  and 
Famous  Duels.  The  Judicial  Duel  ;  The  Private  Duel  through 
out  the  Civilized  World ;  Descriptions  of  all  the  Noted  Fatal 
Duels  that  have  taken  place  in  Europe  and  America.  I2mo. 
Cloth,  $2.00. 

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passion  and  motive,  and  to  that  curious  I  library." — Magazine  of  A  mericanHi?- 
and  omnivorous  creature,  the  general  |  toryt  N.  Y. 


MISCELLANEOUS  PUBLICATIONS. 


John  C.  Van  Dyke. 

PRINCIPLES    OF    ART.     Part    I. — Art   in    History,    its 

causes,  nature,  development,  and  different  stages  of  progression. 

Part    II. — A  it  in    Theory,    its   aims,    motives,    and    manner    of 

expression.     I2mo.     Vellum  Cloth,  $i  50. 

"  Thickly  set  with  points  of  interest.  I  "As  a  rapid,  bright  series  of  historical 
judiciously  taken  and  intelligently  sus-  narrations  the  book  is  beyond  compute 
taincd.*' — The  Dial,  Chicago.  |  a  perfect  treasury." — Graphic,  N.  V, 

Theodore  S.   Van  Dyke. 
SOUTHERN    CALIFORNIA  :     Its     Valleys,     Hills,     and 

Streams  ;    Its  Animals,  Birds,  and  Fishes  ;  Its  Gardens,  Farms, 
and  Climate.     I2mo.     Extra  Cloth,  beveLd,  $L  50. 

'•  The  result  of  twelve  years'  experi 
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''A  keen  and  observant  naturalist." 
— London  (Eng  )  Morning  Post. 

THE  STILL  HUNTER.     A  Practical  Treatise  on  Deer- 
Stalking.     I2mo.     Extra  Cloth,  beveleJ,  $2.00 

"The  best,  the  very  best  work  on  i  "  Altogether  the  best  and  most  corn- 
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N.  Y.  I  on  any  branch  of  field  sports.  —.Yro/ 

I  York  Ei-eiii'g  l'ost. 

THE  RIFLE,  ROD,  AND  GUN  IN  CALIFORNIA.    A  Sport 
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"Without  question  the  best  book; 
which  has  been  written  on  the  South 
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be  commended  without  any  of  the  usual 
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icle. 


truthful  technical  account  of  our  South- 


Cali fornia. 


Tullio  di  Suzzara  Verdi,  M.D. 

MATERNITY  :    A   Popular    Treatise.      Eighth  Edition. 

I2mo.     Cloth.  $2  oo. 
Treating  of  the  needs,  dangers,  and  alleviations  of  the  duties  of 

maternity,  and  giving  detailed  instructions  for  the  care  and  medical 

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prehensive  work,  whose  author  has  for  practitioner.  ...  A  safe  friend  and 
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THE    INFANT    PHILOSOPHER  :    Stray   Leaves   from    a 
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"Amusing  as  this  booklet  is,  its  object 
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of  the  child's  neeHs  from  a  child's 
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form  of  quaint  simplicity.'1—  The  Inde 
pendent.  N  Y. 

*•  Every  young  mother  should  be  fur 
nished  with  a  copy  of  this  dainty  bro 
chure,  which  is  as  much  a  book  of 
practical  sense  as  it  is  a  jeu  d  *  esprit" — 
Evening  Bulletin,  Philadelphia . 


FORDS,  HOWARD,  &  HULBERT. 


Dr.  William  Wagner. 
EPICS  AND  ROMANCES  OF  THE  MIDDLE  AGES.    Adapted 

from  the  German.    500  pp.,  8vo.    Numerous  spirited  Illustrations, 
Cloth,  gilt  edges,  $2.00. 

"  Should  supply  the  requirement  of 
a  marked  interest  in  this  day  of  an  in 
telligent  appeciution  of  Wagner's  colos 
sal  music-dramas  :  and  whether  for  the 


delight  of  the  young,  or  the  pleasure 
of  the  elders,  it  comes  at  a  timely 
juncture."— AVw  York  Star. 


"  Presenting  familiarly  the  stirring 
legends  of  the  Amelungs,  the  Dietrichs, 
the  Niebelungenlied,  Charlemagne  and 
his  knights,  King  Arthur  and  the  Holy 
Grail  (Lohengrin.  Parsifal.  Tannhau- 
ser,  etc.),  Tristan  and  Isolde,  and  all 
the  rich,  romantic  realm  from  which 
Richard  Wagner  drew  his  potent  in 
spiration."—  Literary  Worid^  Boston. 

Major  George  E.  Williams. 

BULLET  AND  SHELL.  War  as  the  Soldier  saw  it : 
Camp,  March,  and  Picket ;  Battlefield  and  Bivouac  ;  Prison  and 
Hospital.  Illustrated  by  Edwin  Forbes.  I  vol.,  large  8vo. 
Illustrated.  New  popular  edition,  $2.00. 

correc*      history."  —  U.   S.  i  able  picture  of  the  interior  of  army 
life  " -  GEO.  B.  MCCLELLAN. 

"We  know  of  no  more  stirring  and 
soul-inspiring  book.  It  is  a  stcry  to 
delight  the  old  soldier's  heart." — New 
York  Commercial  Advertiser. 


"  Very 
GRANT. 

"  I  have  no  hesitation  in  recommend 
ing  your  interesting  volume.'" — W.  T. 
SHERMAN. 

"  I  have  read  the  book,  and  enjoyed 
it  extremely,  as  giving  such  an  admir- 


James  Grant  Wilson. 

BRYANT  AND  His  FRIENDS.  Some  Reminiscences  of 
the  Knickerbocker  Writers.  BRYANT.  PAULDING.  IRVING.  DANA, 
COOPER.  HALLECK,  and  DRAKE  ;  together  with  POE,  N.  P.  WILLIS, 
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I  have  read  it  with  interest  and 


pleasure." — GEORGE  WILLIAM  CURTIS. 

•'  A  standard  volume  of  literary  his- 
torv."—  lioston  Evening  Traveller. 

t-  Accept  my  thanks,  as  a  New  York 
author,  for  the  work  vou  have  accom 
plished. " — EDMUND  C.  STEDMAN. 


"  No  man  living  is  probably  so  well 
fitted  as  the  author  of  this  volume  to 
sketch  the  group  of  Knickerbocker 
writers  "—  A VTC  Vork  Tribune. 

"A  delightful  addition  to  the  stores 
of  literary  and  personal  history.1'1—  Chi 
cago  Inter-Ocean. 


IRemalnDer  of  Xar^e  ipaper  B&ttfon 

WHICH  WAS  STRICTLY  LIMITED   TO   195  NUMBERED  COPIES. 

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REC.  CIR.  JAN  1  7    1979 

..FEBn?  2nn? 

JAN  TTZOOz 

••m 


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